Harry Potter and the Dementors of Azkaban
by DrizzleWizzle
Summary: (3/7) Harry Potter is thirteen years old, and suddenly there's plenty of flirting at Hogwarts. Flirting with witches, flirting with trouble, and even flirting with dark magic. When Sirius Black escapes from Azkaban, Harry's quest for revenge brings him dangerously close to the very darkness he's been trying to defeat. AU, Slytherin!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

Harry awoke disoriented, unfamiliar with his surroundings. After thrashing about in bed, the events of the previous night came back to him in a rush: blowing up his Aunt Marge, being stalked by an enormous black dog, escaping on the Knight Bus, and meeting the Minister of Magic in Diagon Alley outside…

The Leaky Cauldron. That's where he was. Harry relaxed slightly. Even though he had just performed underage magic, and even though he had just run away from his (ostensible) home, Harry felt relieved. His feet were light as he got dressed. A quick trip to Gringott's would give him enough money to finish the week at the Leaky Cauldron. By that time, he should receive his second notice of underage magic usage, and he would need to secure a solicitor to fight against his expulsion from Hogwarts.

Harry had promised the Minister that he wouldn't leave Diagon Alley, but it was an easy promise to make. Harry had no plans of returning to the Muggle world any time soon.

Stepping outside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry found himself in the midst of magical London's most popular shopping district. Diagon Alley held a special place in Harry's heart, as it was the first place that Harry had truly entered the magical world. Hagrid had purchased Harry's owl, Hedwig, during Harry's first trip to Diagon Alley. Harry met his closest friend, Draco Malfoy, in Diagon Alley. Later, Draco's father Lucius bought Harry his first broom at Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley.

For Harry, a trip to Diagon Alley meant leaving the Dursleys and returning to the magical world. His world. His parents' world, before they died.

Harry's trip to Gringott's was uneventful. As always, the goblins were curt and grouchy, but they did give Harry a limited amount of respect. Partly for his status as The Boy Who Lived, and partly for his status as the heir to an enormously well-stocked vault. Harry had a feeling that, unlike everybody else in the wizarding world, the goblins respected him more for his vault than for his scar. It was refreshing to be treated just like any other (enormously rich) wizard would be.

He left the bank with pockets full, but stomach empty. He decided to stop back at the Leaky Cauldron to pay for his room and eat breakfast. Harry approached the innkeeper, but was told that his room had already been paid for.

"Already paid? By who?"

A voice spoke from behind Harry. "By me."

Harry turned and saw Lucius Malfoy approaching from across the dining room. "Minister Fudge contacted me this morning. Couldn't stand another day with those muggles, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "You've met my Uncle. Would you want to?"

Lucius nodded. "Quite right, quite right."

Before Harry could say anything else, his stomach rumbled.

"Why don't we have breakfast," suggested Mr. Malfoy. "You can tell me why you left while we eat."

Several minutes later, Harry found an enormous stack of pancakes sitting before him. Mr. Malfoy had selected a large plate of fresh tropical fruits, most of which Harry failed to recognize.

"So, Harry… why last night? Your trip to Malfoy Manor was only a week away."

Harry looked down at his lap. "I blew up my Aunt Maude."

Lucius's raised his eyebrows. "Blew her up, Harry?"

Harry's voice was quiet. "She was saying the worst things about my mother and father. I couldn't stand to hear it. It's been years since I did accidental magic, but I just couldn't control myself. I blew her up like a balloon and she floated out of the house and down the street." Harry took a deep breath. "It won't be long until I get my second notice for underage magic. If you could recommend a good solicitor, I'll need it, or else I'll be expelled from Hogwarts."

Lucius burst out laughing. "Harry, please don't sound so despondent. People don't get underage magic notices for accidental magic."

"But last year…"

Lucius held up a hand. "More importantly, Harry, is that YOU don't get underage magic notices for accidental magic. I will speak to Minister Fudge and inform him of the circumstances. Exceptions can be made, and one can certainly be made for Harry Potter, a dear friend of the Malfoy family."

Harry smiled. "You really think so?"

"Of course. Even if your second notice has already been drafted… well. Documents are lost so frequently in the vast bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic. I wouldn't be surprised if your notice were to be similarly lost." Lucius carefully cut a piece of fruit on his plate. "Never forget, Harry, that the advantages of being in Slytherin last long beyond your years at Hogwarts."

Harry and Lucius spent the rest of the morning in Diagon Alley. Harry purchased his school books for the year, including the appropriately named _Monsterous Book of Monsters_ for Care of Magical Creatures. Harry's trip to Flourish and Blott's was otherwise uneventful, unlike the previous year when Harry had been accosted by both Gilderoy Lockhart and Ronald Weasley. (The Weasley family was in Egypt, visiting one of Ron's older brothers; Harry had seen the picture on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.) They had ice cream at Fontescue's Ice Cream Parlor, purchased a new set of robes for Harry at Madam Malkin's, and browsed the various other stores of Diagon Alley.

Just before dinnertime, Mr. Malfoy and Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron and spoke with the owner. A few galleons exchanged hands, and the owner agreed to send Harry's trunk along to Malfoy Manor before the end of the night. Mr. Malfoy gestured for Harry to follow him, then stepped outside.

"Take my arm, Harry."

Harry grabbed Mr. Malfoy's arm at the elbow, and felt a twisting and squishing sensation that seemed to last forever and no time at all. With a pop, the pair appeared in front of Malfoy Manor. As always, Harry was impressed by both the size and neatness of the Manor. While Harry's school was much larger, Hogwarts castle was a hodgepodge of architecture that gave the impression of being assembled by an enormous toddler. Malfoy Manor, though, was an exercise in propriety; the lawn was immaculately groomed, the floors impeccably clean, the furniture was precisely positioned, and the pillows were flawlessly fluffed.

As Harry and Mr. Malfoy stepped into the foyer, Harry could hear the soft sound of a piano coming from the study. Harry poked his head through the door and discovered Draco, his best friend, seated at the bench in front of the piano.

"Sounds great," Harry said.

Draco abruptly stopped playing and turned around. "It certainly took my father long enough to find you," Draco said, a slightly irritated edge to his voice. "What were you doing, hiding from Sirius Black?"

Before Harry could respond, Lucius spoke. "Harry is rather resourceful. He had planned on spending the rest of the summer in Diagon Alley, sleeping at the Leaky Cauldron."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Harry? Your manners still need work. Neither a Malfoy nor a Potter needs to stay at that hovel."

"It's the only place I knew," Harry said.

Lucius patted Harry on the shoulder. "You're here now, Harry. That's the important thing. Why don't we have some dinner?"

As Harry and Draco walked to the dining room, Harry's thought about his Draco's initial question: what _had_ taken them so long? Mr. Malfoy's hadn't answered Draco's question in any way, but had simply deflected Draco's attention.

Harry had enjoyed himself in Diagon Alley, so much so that he hadn't thought to ask after Draco. Harry had just assumed that Draco was busy and unable to come along. Instead, Draco had been waiting for Harry and Mr. Malfoy to return. But earlier in the morning, Mr. Malfoy hadn't seemed to be in any hurry. In fact, Mr. Malfoy and Harry had fairly dawdled in Quality Quidditch Supplies, speaking of Slytherin teams past and present, arguing the merits of various brooms. (The newly-released Firebolt was obviously the class of the field.)

Harry felt guilty, as if he had somehow betrayed Draco's trust. Harry couldn't point at anything he had done and say that it was wrong, but nevertheless he felt a little sick to his stomach. And somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, Harry was reminded of his conversation with Lucius Malfoy at the end of last term, and Mr. Malfoy's non-answers regarding the diary of Tom Riddle.

"Why so quiet?" asked Draco. "Escaped killer got you down?"

Harry shook his head. "I was just thinking that I didn't know that you played piano," Harry said. "There's a piano in our common room; why don't you play at school?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "There are more interesting things to do at Hogwarts than play the piano."

"But that sounded great. It must have taken you years to get that good." Harry was familiar with poor piano playing, as his Aunt Petunia had enrolled Dudley in piano lessons for several months when Dudley was ten. Harry wasn't sure what suffered more from Dudley's violent pounding of the piano keys: Harry's ears, or the piano itself.

"It did," Draco said. "But playing the piano is as boring as it is beautiful. If I wanted to sit in a corner and not speak to anybody, I'd do something fun and earn a detention."

Harry nodded. He understood exactly what Draco meant. Every summer, Harry returned to Hogwarts feeling starved for company. The last thing either of them wanted to do was be quiet and alone.

* * *

**A/N: **_And so we begin, again. There are some short chapters in this book - the natural breaks just fell that way. Because of this, plan on getting some Tuesday updates over the next six months. If you see a chapter that's unusually brief, like this one, then check back on Tuesday!_


	2. Chapter 2

It was long past dark, and Draco was asleep across the bedroom. Harry was restless. At Hogwarts, he had picked up a bad habit of sneaking into the kitchens with his invisibility cloak for late night snacks. Even a month with the Dursleys couldn't break him of his late night cravings. Stomach rumbling, Harry stood and began walking to the kitchen. No matter what time of night it was, Dobby would be happy to make him a snack.

As Harry neared the den, he heard raised voices. Living with the Dursleys, Harry had learned long ago that when adults argue, a child is better out of sight. But before Harry could sneak past the open door, he heard his name. Curiosity aroused, Harry crouched next to the door, trying to stay out of sight but straining to understand the voices.

"…don't have to tell Harry that." This was Draco's mother.

"Yes, Narcissa, we do." Lucius, this time.

"But it's wrong. We shouldn't fill his head with such stories. He's Draco's best friend."

"It is our duty, Narcissa. We must remain vigilant. Or perhaps you have ignored the signs from the past two years? The Dark Lord has returned—twice! While there are some duties you may have forgotten since the war, I certainly have not."

"Luicus…"

"The decision has been made. We must speak with him."

"Fine." Narcissa's voice was cold and clear. "I will speak to him about Sirius Black and nothing more. The rest is left to you."

Harry heard footsteps approach the doorway to the den. Suddenly frantic, Harry backed up several steps, then began a casual walk down the hall, toward the open door. He almost bumped into Mrs. Malfoy as she left the room.

"Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. I was just on my way to the kitchen…"

Draco's mother smiled. "A fine idea. Why don't we both have a bite to eat? Perhaps Lucius will join us in a moment."

Dobby quickly prepared a late-night snack for Harry (French toast) and Mrs. Malfoy (cheese danish). Harry ate silently, not daring to broach the subject of the argument.

As Mrs. Malfoy finished her pastry, she gave a great sigh. "Harry," she said, "I need to speak with you about something important. What do you know about Sirius Black?"

"Not much, Mrs. Malfoy. He just escaped from jail, and he's dangerous. Dangerous enough to warn the muggles, even."

"Correct. Sirius Black comes from a powerful magical family, one of the most esteemed pureblood families in England."

"Why haven't I heard of them?" asked Harry. "I mean, I know the Notts and the Parkinsons and the Weasleys, even the Longbottoms."

"Sirius is the last surviving heir who bears the Black family name. He has no surviving siblings. His extended family members were born with the Black family name, but they were all female. Being a traditional family, those cousins took the names of their husbands when they married."

A flash of insight hit Harry. "Names like Malfoy. That's how you know so much about his family."

"Yes, Harry, Sirius is my cousin. Which is why I must take responsibility for warning you about him." Narcissa sighed again. "We might as well begin at the beginning. The Black family is pureblooded and traceable for no fewer than twelve generations. For each of those twelve generations, the Black family attended Hogwarts. And for each of those twelve generations, the children were sorted into Slytherin, married a fellow Slytherin, and had children who were themselves sorted into Slytherin. Twelve generations, until Sirius Black, who betrayed everything our family held dear."

"He was a Gryffindor," Harry said.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows.

"If he were a Ravenclaw," Harry said, "there wouldn't be any real scandal. Hufflepuff would be an embarrassment, but he would still have been loyal to the Black family. He must have been in Gryffindor, or he wouldn't be brave enough to stand against generations of his family."

"Indeed. Sirius rejected his entire family. Even though we were classmates at Hogwarts, Sirius rarely spoke with me or my sister. Sirius constantly fought with his parents and his brother. Eventually, his mother burned his face from the Black Family Tree, the magical mural that traced twelve generations of pureblooded Blacks.

"Sirius wasn't a quiet individual. He was extremely vocal in his opposition of the Black family. If his father or my father made a proposal to the Wizangamot, Sirius would appear to speak in opposition. If our family made an investment in a business, he would invest in a competing enterprise. If a Black planned to marry, he would hire a private investigator to uncover embarrassing information about the spouse-to-be, and he would have it published in _The_ _Daily Prophet_."

"He sounds petty."

"Extremely. He was an annoyance, but we didn't think he was a threat."

"So why was he sent to prison?" Harry asked.

Narcissa took a long moment before speaking. "Sirius was sent to Azkaban for murdering one of his best friends, a wizard named Peter Pettigrew. Sirius blew up a street full of muggles in the process. Nobody knows exactly what spell was cast, but it appeared to be an extraordinarily powerful blasting curse. All they ever found of Pettigrew was his little finger."

"That's horrible."

"Yes, Harry, it was. But there's a reason I'm telling you this. Pettigrew accused Sirius of being in league with the Dark Lord. Sirius Black appears to have been one of the Dark Lord's most important lieutenants."

"And now he's free. And Voldemort is trying to return." Harry paused. "You think Sirius Black is coming after me."

Narcissa nodded. "Harry, I'm going to ask you to promise me something. Whatever happens this year, please do not go looking for Sirius Black."

"Why would I do that?"

Instead of answering, Narcissa clapped her hands twice. Dobby appeared by her side. "Dobby, I need two cups of tea, and the good brandy."

Dobby disappeared and reappeared after only a few seconds. He placed two steaming cups of tea before Harry and Narcissa, and set the bottle of brandy next to the older witch. Narcissa opened the bottle and poured a small amount of brandy into Harry's tea. She poured a larger amount into her own.

"Harry, the Malfoys are a respected family in the wizarding community. Lucius and I are often privy to knowledge that the majority of wizards are not. What I am about to tell you is not commonly known." Narcissa took a drink of her tea. With a motion of her hand, she urged Harry to do the same.

"Your parents went into hiding near the end of the war with the Dark Lord. For some reason, the Dark Lord bore a particular grudge against the Potters, and had ordered your entire family killed. You and your parents were placed under a powerful protective spell called the Fidelus Charm, which protects a secret inside the soul of a single person who is known as the Secret Keeper. As long as the Secret Keeper does not reveal the secret, the secret can never be discovered or known by another. In this case, the secret was the location of your family's home."

"But Voldemort killed my parents in their home," Harry said, quickly processing the information. "Their Secret Keeper betrayed them?"

Narcissa nodded. "Harry… Sirius Black was your parents' Secret Keeper."

Harry felt as if he had suddenly been dropped into a tub of ice. Numbness spread throughout his body. He stared down at his hands, which felt disconnected, as if they belonged to somebody else. Distantly, as if through a long hallway, he heard Narcissa continue.

"When Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, he met your father, and they became inseparable friends. More like brothers, actually. It was natural that your father would select Sirius to be the Secret Keeper. Sirius was the best man at your father's wedding. Your father chose Sirius Black to be your godfather, Harry—if your parents didn't survive the war, they wanted Sirius to raise you." Narcissa took a long drink of her tea. Her hand shook, rattling the teacup against the saucer as she placed them back on the table. "Your father entrusted everything important in his entire life to Sirius Black."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sirius Black was more than a mass murderer. Sirius Black was more than a Death Eater. Sirius Black was his parents' betrayer, and he had been allowed to escape from Azkaban. Harry's hands clenched into fists, and he trembled with rage.

"Pettigrew was killed on November 1, 1981," Narcissa said. "It was the day after the Dark Lord was defeated. Pettigrew was also your father's friend, and knew about the Fidelus Charm. Pettigrew tracked down Sirius, even though he knew that Sirius was a vastly more powerful wizard. The witnesses who survived the attack said that Pettigrew's last words were, 'James and Lily, Sirius! How could you?'"

The edges of his vision began to go black, and at the farthest edges of the black, Harry could see flashes of color… green, like lightning, crackling across the darkness…

"Harry?"

Harry looked up, opening his hands and releasing the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Color flooded back into the world.

Narcissa reached across the table and placed a hand on Harry's cheek. "Harry, you must promise me that you won't go looking for Sirius Black."

"I promise," Harry said. The lie fell smoothly from his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _If you didn't like the last chapter because of too much dialogue, you probably won't like this one, either. Sorry, guys. On the upside, you get another chapter on Tuesday, and that one covers the Hogwarts Express and the Welcoming Feast! Hooray!_

_For those of you who like dialogue, I recommend my favorite short story, "Hills Like White Elephants," by Ernest Hemingway. Probably 90% dialogue, and among the best three pages you will ever read._

_For those of you who hate dialogue, I recommend "To Build a Fire," by Jack London. There are only two spoken sentences, and no response, so it can't actually be called 'dialogue.' More like 'monologue.'_

* * *

The next morning, Harry and Draco were playing gobstones. Harry told Draco about the late-night conversation with Draco's mother.

"Sure, I knew about it," Draco said. "We don't talk about it much—Sirius Black is a blemish on the face of our family, even if he is just my mother's cousin." Draco moved a gobstone, taking one of Harry's.

Harry quickly surveyed the board. "It's just… I always thought that Voldemort was the most evil anybody could be. But he's not." Harry moved a gobstone to an open space, failing to capture one of Draco's. "With Voldemort, you know what you're getting. He's an incredibly powerful dark wizard, and he's trying to kill you. Sirius Black is worse than that. He and my father were like brothers. To betray someone so close to you, somebody who has placed their trust in you…"

Draco moved a gobstone, again taking one of Harry's pieces. Harry quickly moved a gobstone, barely glancing at the board. Draco reached out a hand to move then pulled it back.

"You're not really in the game, are you, mate?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let's go flying, then," Draco said.

"I don't feel like playing quidditch," Harry said quietly.

"I didn't say quidditch," Draco responded. "Let's just fly for a while. No strategy, no competition. No talking, even. Let's just go do something that we don't have to think about."

The corner of Harry's mouth turned upward in a small smile. "Okay. Let's go fly."

For almost an hour, they did just that. Loops and whirls, impromptu races and dives, rolls and spins. Eventually, Harry's sprits began to lift. By the time the boys had finished, they were both laughing and covered in sweat from the exertion in the summer heat.

*!*!*

Harry's trunk was packed and ready for the trip to Hogwarts early the next morning. Draco was in his room, putting the last of his things together. Harry, having nothing better to do, wandered through Malfoy Manor, looking at the numerous magical paintings. Soon, he found himself outside Lucius Malfoy's study. He could see a light under the door.

Harry remembered the promise he made to himself at the end of last term. It seemed so much less urgent, now. Perhaps it had all been a mistake…

No. Harry wouldn't lie to himself. He had to know why Mr. Malfoy gave Ginny Weasley the diary of Tom Riddle.

Harry knocked on the door to the study.

"Enter."

Harry walked into the room. Lucius Malfoy was bent over a desk, carefully inspecting a parchment.

"Harry, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Malfoy, I was hoping we could talk for a few moments. About the end of last year, and the year before."

Draco's father sat up. "I expected this conversation, Harry. Have a seat." Draco's father rolled up the parchment and tucked it away in the desk as Harry sat down in one of the room's enormous leather chairs. "Go ahead, Harry. What would you like to speak about?"

Harry began slowly. "Well, sir, I've been thinking a lot about what happened. Down in the Chamber. And I wanted to tell you some of it, because I'm not sure that Dumbledore understood it all." This wasn't true at all, but Harry thought it would appeal to Mr. Malfoy.

Lucius nodded. "Dumbledore is very intelligent, and very powerful, but because of that the mistakes he makes are correspondingly larger. I must say, I have been curious to know how you survived a confrontation with the Heir of Slytherin."

"When I was in the Chamber, I had to face the Heir. He was a boy named Tom Riddle… a boy that eventually became Lord Voldemort. He stole my wand and ordered the basilisk to attack me, but I convinced the basilisk not to."

"Draco told me you were a parselmouth, Harry, but… you convinced a basilisk to disobey the Dark Lord?"

"Yes. And when the basilisk refused to attack, Voldemort cut off its head. I used a basilisk fang to stab Voldemort's diary, which was the vessel for Voldemort's spirit. Both the spirit and the diary were destroyed."

"An exceptional tale. But what did you fail to understand?"

"It's not that I didn't understand… but I didn't want to ask Dumbledore. Why did you give Voldemort's diary to Ginny Weasley?"

Lucius sat back in his chair, steepleing his fingers. "Ah, Harry. Too clever to be deflected, aren't you? A Slytherin, through and through. I'm proud of you, my boy."

"I have to know, sir."

Lucius's gaze became distant. "Harry, how much do you know of the war?"

"With Voldemort? Next to nothing."

"I graduated from Hogwarts during the early years of the Dark Lord's ascent into power. Slytherin then was much the same as Slytherin now—a home for the ambitious, the pureblooded, and the powerful. It proved a natural recruiting ground for the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.

"They were dark times, Harry. The truly evil, like Sirius Black, willingly committed horrible atrocities. I hesitate to describe them to a child. Other wizards were placed under the Imperius Curse and forced to act against their will by Death Eaters. Many wizards… otherwise upstanding individuals… did things they were not proud of, simply trying to survive."

"So when you graduated, you were caught between a rock and a hard place."

Lucius nodded. "A Death Eater forced me into the Dark Lord's service through use of the Imperius curse. Later, my actions while under the curse were used to blackmail me. I was coerced into cooperating further. That is why the Dark Lord's diary was in my possession. For the majority of the war, I was forced to serve the Dark Lord as a Death Eater."

Harry was taking deep breaths. He had been telling himself all summer that there was an innocent explanation for Mr. Malfoy's actions, and here it was. Mr. Malfoy hadn't wanted to be a Death Eater. He was cursed, and then blackmailed into doing Voldemort's bidding.

Why, then, was the blood pounding so loudly in Harry's ears? Why were the fingers on his right hand twitching, as if they wanted to draw his wand?

"But why did you give the diary to Ginny?" Harry asked.

Lucius lowered his head. "That was a terrible decision, Harry, and one I regret deeply. Arthur Weasley was promoting the Muggle Protection Act last summer. One of several unintentional consequences of that misguided piece of legislation would have been the financial ruination of a corporation in which I had made a substantial investment. Truly, I had hoped that young Ms. Weasley would be discovered with the diary. The ensuing scandal would have enveloped Arthur's family and prevented passage of the legislation. I had no way of knowing that the diary would be so dangerous."

Harry nodded. Everything made sense. Mr. Malfoy's actions were subtle, nearly untraceable, and perfectly understandable for a Slytherin. But Harry still wanted to leap across the desk and grab Mr. Malfoy by the throat. Something deep inside Harry was screaming that Mr. Malfoy was lying. Harry buried that part of him even deeper, ignoring his intuition and silencing any protest from his conscience.

Keeping his face calm, Harry stood. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for your honesty. I know it must be difficult to talk about the last war. I can't imagine having to live through it."

Draco's father came around the desk and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Let us hope you are never required to live through such times, Harry. And I should be thanking you for your understanding. You are a remarkable young boy, and my family is better for having known you. It was a stroke of good fortune that Draco met you in Madame Malkin's."

"I'm glad about that, too."

Lucius patted Harry on the back. "Off you go. Tell my son that if he isn't finished packing before bed, tomorrow morning he'll be packing instead of eating."

Harry forced himself to laugh. "Sure thing, Mr. Malfoy."


	4. Chapter 4

On the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Draco looked for an empty compartment, moving toward the rear of the train. The only compartment they found without other students was already occupied by a single, shabbily dressed adult who appeared to be asleep.

"What's that guy doing here?" said Harry. "This is the Hogwarts Express, not the London Underground."

"What's the London Underground?"

Before Harry could answer, he heard a voice shouting his name.

"Harry, Draco! Down here!"

Further toward the rear of the train, Harry saw Pansy Parkinson leaning out of a compartment. The two boys walked down to her. Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini were already in the compartment, arguing about professional quidditch. Harry and Draco joined in immediately.

Pansy dropped into a seat near the window. "I didn't call you in here to talk about quidditch. I called you in here to talk to me about something OTHER THAN QUIDDITCH."

"Pansy," Draco said, "There are some battles that are not worth fighting. Harry and I never ask you to stop talking about clothes."

Theo burst into laughter. "Do you realize how stereotypical you and Pansy are acting?"

"It would be funnier if Draco were fat and bald," Harry said.

"You mean, 'It would be better if Draco were Crabbe?'" said Theo.

Harry and Zabini laughed loudly, while Draco and Pansy both began to scowl.

"Okay," said Harry, "it'll be a wizarding wireless program, and we'll call it _Better Off Crabbe_."

Theo picked right up. "Draco works in the Ministry…"

"…Department of Muggle Relations," said Harry.

"I would never work in _Muggle_ _Relations_!" snapped Draco.

"And Pansy's a secretary at a solicitor's office," Harry said.

"I would never _work_," snapped Pansy.

"They live next door to a wacky neighbor…" said Harry.

"…Theo Nott, an out-of-work comedian," said Nott.

"Their best friend, Harry Potter, lives across town…"

"With his girlfriend, Blaise Zabini," said Theo.

"What!" Blaise was truly offended. "I am not a girl, and I refuse to allow my role to be played by one!"

Harry shook his head. "Too late, Zabini. We need two couples and a wacky neighbor. Wacky neighbor was already taken by Theo."

"And with a name like 'Harry,' Potter just isn't girlfriend material," said Nott.

As Blaise sputtered and protested, Harry and Theo began describing girl-Blaise. Pansy and Draco quickly realized that Blaise had replaced them as a target for taking the mickey, and they joined Harry and Theo in teasing Blaise. Girl-Blaise quickly took shape: beautiful blue hair, bright purple eyes, unsurpassed charm and wit, voluptuous curves and magical knowledge greater than Dumbledore's. Harry was laughing so hard that he barely registered that the Hogwarts Express was slowing down.

Draco spun a tale in which girl-Blaise became soul-bonded to Harry, requiring perpetual physical contact but allowing Harry to defeat Voldemort with the power of purest love. Harry's stomach began to cramp from laughter. Also, Pansy added, Harry and girl-Blaise's children had glowing yellow hair and could fly.

Finally, Blaise snapped and drew his wand. "I will hex you all unless you stop this. Immediately!"

As their laughter died down, Harry noticed that the train had come to a full stop.

"Why are we stopping here?" Draco asked, looking out the window. "We're not nearly to Hogwarts."

The door to the compartment opened, and the air grew dark and cold. A cloaked figure loomed in the doorway, breath rasping. The compartment was suddenly cold, and Harry felt as if he would never be warm again. Darkness swam at the edge of his vision, and distantly he heard a piercing scream. At the door there was a burst of white light, then the darkness came swarming in…

"Harry? HARRY! Wake up, mate!"

Harry shook his head. He was looking at the ceiling of the compartment, which was odd, because just a moment before he had been looking at the door.

"What…?"  
"You're on the floor, mate."

That explained a lot.

"You fainted, Harry," said a gravely voice.

That explained more.

Harry recognized the first voice as Draco's, but he didn't know the second. Harry sat up and his vision swam.

"Slowly, Harry," said the gravelly voice. "Have some chocolate. It will help."

Harry found a piece of candy thrust into his hand. He automatically took a bite. Growing up with the Dursleys had taught Harry that chocolate was a food to be eaten quickly, before your cousin could find you and take it for himself.

Harry felt a little better. "What was that thing? Was Pansy screaming? Is she okay?"

"I'm fine, Harry." Pansy was behind Draco. "It's so nice to know you care."

"Nobody was screaming," said Draco.

"'That thing' was a dementor," said the man with the gravely voice. "One of Azkaban's guards. If you'll excuse me, I must go speak with the driver." He quickly slipped out of the compartment.

"Who was that?" asked Harry.

"Apparently our new Defense professor," said Theo. "Looks like hell, but he got rid of that dementor right quick."

Harry climbed back to his feet. "Tell me everything that happened."  
"The dementor came in, and everything got cold and awful," said Pansy. "I was in such a good mood… but it was like every funny thing we said about Blaise had never happened."

"They never did happen," said Blaise, still in a huff. "None of it was funny."

"I felt the cold, too," said Draco, "but you really lost it, Harry. You started twitching and shaking and then you collapsed."

"Then the professor came by and shot something silver out of his wand at the dementor." Theo was still focused on the new professor. "Whatever that spell was, it chased the dementor all the way down the train."

Crabbe and Goyle burst into the compartment.

"Did you see the dementor?" Crabbe asked.

"I wonder what it was looking for," Goyle wondered.

"It was looking for Sirius Black, you lump," said Harry. "What else would an Azkaban guard be doing on the train?"

"Oh," said Goyle. "That makes sense."

"You _have_ no sense," said Harry. Harry was in no mood for stupidity.

There was a pause in conversation. "Sounds like you saw the dementor, then," said Crabbe.

Harry stared daggers at Crabbe, but said nothing. The rest of the train ride was very quiet.

Harry tried to go directly to the Great Hall, but he was intercepted by Professor McGonagall. "Mr. Potter? Come with me, please."

McGonagall took Harry to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey fussed over Harry for almost twenty minutes before Harry could persuade her that he was fine, and that there was no need to worry about permanent damage from his dementor encounter. By the time McGonagall escorted Harry to the Great Hall, the Sorting had already finished and most of the students had begun eating. As Harry took his seat, he noticed that McGonagall was pulling Hermione Granger away from the feast.

Harry took a seat next to Draco and began helping himself to dinner.

"What was that about?" asked Draco.

"Nothing," said Harry. "And what's Flint doing here?"

Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin quidditch team for the last two years, was sitting near the end of the table, eating alone. Last year's beaters sat nearby, but Flint was staring straight ahead, totally silent.

"Flint failed his exams last year," Draco said in a low voice. "And with last year's matches being cancelled because of the attacks, no profession team was

willing to sign him." Draco's mouth curled up slightly, a sneer that Harry had come to know well. "I don't care how good he is at quidditch; he's an embarrassment."

Harry nodded. In Slytherin, you were either clever enough to pass the exams on your own, or cunning enough to cheat without getting caught. If you couldn't do either, well, you were hardly a Slytherin.

"Will he be playing quidditch?" Harry asked.

"Warrington says that McGonagall and Snape got in a row about it," Draco said. "McGonagall wanted Flint disqualified because of his age. Snape wanted Flint to have another year, because he started playing in his third year, not his second. Dumbledore sided with Snape."

"I bet that wasn't Snape's real reason," Harry said. "Quidditch might be Flint's only real career path, if he's too thick to pass exams. Snape is trying to get him more games in front of the pro scouts."

Draco nodded. "Absolutely. But Snape had to justify it to Dumbledore somehow."

"Well, good for us," Harry said. "No chance of basilisk attacks this year, so we'll have a chance to win the Quidditch Cup."

"A silver lining to every cloud. Spoken like a true Slytherin."

"Silver and green lining, Draco. Silver and green."

* * *

**A/N:** Next week is the last week of short chapters. After that, we'll be back to full length, Friday-only updates.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco and Harry stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Several feet away from them was a large hippogriff. Harry was bent over at his waist, bowing deeply. After the morning's Divination class, he wasn't taking any unnecessary risks; Professor Trelawney had predicted his death, and the leaves in his teacup had (allegedly) taken the form of the Grim, a death omen in the shape of a black dog. Harry didn't much believe in omens, but he had also seen a black dog on the night he had left the Dursleys, and that was one too many omens for Harry's liking.

Thus, Harry was bowing as low as possible to his hippogriff. No need to tempt fate, especially when fate took the form of razor-sharp hippogriff talons.

Draco was next to Harry, also bent over, but not nearly as far. "It isn't that difficult," Draco said to Harry out of the side of his mouth. "If Granger and Weasley can do it, then it shouldn't be any problem for us. This stupid beast is just…"

As Draco spoke, Harry could see the hippogriff raising its paw and extending its talons. Before Draco could say any more, Harry lashed out with his leg, kicking his friend in the back of the knee. Draco dropped to one knee, head down, clutching his leg.

"What's that about?" Draco snapped.

"That hippogriff was about to gut you, Draco." Harry struggled to regain his balance and maintain his deep bow. "If you can't respect it for being a majestic animal, at least respect it for being a deadly predator."

The hippogriff lowered its paw and retracted its talons before bowing to Harry. Harry took a tentative step forward and rubbed the animal on its beak.

"What do you want me to do, comb its tail?" Draco asked peevishly. Both Harry and the hippogriff shot Draco a dirty look. "Ugh, fine." Draco stood and bowed at the waist, deeply. "Hippogriff, you are a majestic animal. I respect you for being a deadly predator."

The hippogriff bobbed its head twice and then bowed to Draco. For the rest of the class period, Harry and Draco were able to interact with the hippogriff without fear. Mostly without fear. Draco continued to be cool toward Harry, however, and refused to speak about anything other than their class assignment. When Hagrid dismissed the students, Draco immediately left for the castle, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. Harry was left to walk back with the rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindors.

At lunch, Draco tucked himself between Crabbe and Goyle. He still had not spoken to Harry. Harry sat next to Tracey Davis and Theo Nott.

"What did you think of Divination?" Nott asked Harry. Nott and Tracey both had Divination, as well.

"Trelawney looks like an overgrown bug," Harry said. "I expected her to start buzzing around the room."

Nott laughed. "I still can't believe she saw the Grim in your cup."

Harry was less amused than his classmate—Theo hadn't seen the massive black dog several weeks ago. Harry had only avoided it by accidentally signaling the Knight Bus. Also, Theo didn't have a dark wizard desperate to kill him. Two dark wizards, if you counted Voldemort…

Tracey spoke up. "I heard that Trelawney predicts the death of a student every year. You shouldn't worry."

"Has she ever been right?" asked Harry.

"Would anybody still enroll in the class if there was a one-in-thirty chance of dying?" asked Nott.

Harry had to admit, Nott was making a lot of sense.

When lunch had finished, Harry packed his things and looked for Draco, as they usually walked to classes together. Draco's seat was empty—he was already halfway out of the hall, talking to Pansy. Harry and Tracey gathered their things and followed.

Harry was quiet for most of the walk to Slytherin's next class, History of Magic, distracted by his spat with Draco. It was Tracey who finally broke the long silence.

"I saw what happened with Draco and the hippogriff today."

"Apparently Draco didn't." Harry's voice was bitter.

Davis shook her head. "That hippogriff would have eviscerated him. He might have deserved it. There aren't many ways that arrogance can get you killed, but Draco found one of them today. You're a great friend, Harry." Tracey suddenly looked away, allowing her blonde hair to fall and cover her face. "I have to go."

"Tracey, wait." Harry grabbed the small girl's arm before she could dash away into the crowd of students. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"You and I always have these talks, and you dash away right in the middle. Why?"

"I don't do that. When have I ever done that?"

"Just now."

"Oh. I wasn't dashing."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Why are you still trying to get away, then?"

Harry and Tracey both looked down. Tracey was leaning away from Harry, dramatically overbalanced. The only reason she was still standing upright was Harry's hand on her arm.

"I'm not trying to get away." Tracey's attempt to feign ignorance was unconvincing.

"Tracey. You did this first year at Pansy's party. You bought me a whole new outfit, then clammed up and tried to avoid talking to me at the actual party. Last year you did it constantly. Before quidditch tryouts you were super friendly, and afterwards you were practically avoiding me. Then Pansy told me about blood purity, and you pulled this same stunt."

"No, I didn't."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just tell me, Tracey. What is it?"

Tracey glanced around the corridor. Most of the students had already reached their classrooms, and the hall was mostly empty. "Fine," said Tracey. She pulled herself erect and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him to the side of the corridor, next to a suit of armor. Tracey took a deep breath before speaking. She didn't look Harry in the face; she kept her eyes down and slightly to one side. "Here's the thing. A lot of times I come off as too… intense."

"You, intense? Never."

"Harry, I'm being serious." Tracey glanced up, but quickly looked back down. "It puts people off. I've tried changing, or stopping, or whatever… but I can't. It's who I am. And, apparently, 'who I am' is really off-putting. It's embarrassing. You and Daphne are the only people who really like me so whenever I start doing it around you I try to stop but sometimes I can't so I just have to walk away or else I'll keep doing it and then everyone will hate me and then I want to die."

"Tracey, I wouldn't do that." Harry reached out and placed a hand on Tracey's shoulder.

Tracey shrugged her shoulder, shaking Harry's hand off. "Don't go all Hufflepuff on me, Potter."

"We're friends, Tracey. Last year, during that whole Heir of Slytherin debacle, you stayed my friend. That meant a lot to me."

"It was obvious that you weren't the Heir."  
Harry glanced around the corridor and found it completely empty. All the other students were now in class. Harry remembered Daphne's words last year about Tracey—he was going to have to make the first move to get her to trust him.

"Look, let's just skive off History of Magic," Harry said. "I have a story to tell you about last year."

Harry led Tracey back to the Slytherin dormitories. They had the entire common room to themselves; everybody else was in classes. Harry and Tracey sat next to each other on a couch near the fireplace.

"Tracey, I want to be honest with you about the Heir of Slytherin thing. The story that Dumbledore told the school last year wasn't exactly true. Or, at least, it wasn't the whole truth." Over the next half hour, Harry told Tracey the entire story of the Chamber of Secrets. "I wasn't the Heir of Slytherin who was petrifying people… but I'm pretty sure that I'm the Heir of Slytherin now."

Harry paused in his story. Tracey was staring at him. She hadn't moved an inch since his story began.

"Anyway," Harry said, "The point is this: I'm your friend, so I'm not going to hide who I am from you. You shouldn't hide who you are from me, either."

There was a long silence. Harry began to grow uncomfortable. Showing any weakness was frowned upon in Slytherin. If you display weakness in public, you diminish Slytherin as a whole. If you display weakness to other Slytherins, you are vulnerable to being manipulated by your housemates. What Tracey had shared in the corridor revealed her to be enormously vulnerable, but Harry was sincere about being Tracey's friend. She would only believe that he was sincere if he reciprocated.

As the silence grew longer and longer, though, Harry wondered if he had made a mistake. Maybe Davis wasn't so friendly, after all. Maybe this was going to be used against him. Maybe he should have taken Davis's vulnerability and used it against her. Maybe-

"I'm glad that we're friends, Harry." Tracey broke into a brilliant smile and placed her hand on Harry's. "You're really great."

Harry smiled. He didn't know what to say. Apparently, Tracey didn't either, as she just smiled back.

Behind them, the door to the common room opened. Tracey and Harry jumped apart, jerking their hands into their laps. A group of noisy sixth years took up seats in the common room. Behind them was Pansy, hands on her hips.

"Harry! Where have you been?" Pansy yelled across the room.

"Talking with Tracey."

A sour look crossed Pansy's face. "You were supposed to be in History of Magic, with me."

"We learned just as much as you did," replied Tracey.

"But you didn't have to suffer through Binns' lecture," Pansy said. Harry and Tracey laughed. "Come on, then. We have to get to Potions, or Professor Snape will be furious."

* * *

**A/N:** _One of my regular reviewers was hoping for an actual appearance by girl-Blaise, possibly as a Weasley prank. It's something I certainly considered… maybe in Book 5, as part of the Weasley Twins last hurrah at Hogwarts._

_In the meantime, I'm kicking around the idea of writing a one-shot that would style itself as the pilot episode of Better Off Crabbe. I could probably pull it off, but I don't have any idea that would make it particularly special, at the moment. If something truly interesting presents itself, well, I'll let everybody know in the author's note!_


	6. Chapter 6

Quidditch tryouts were far more intense than they had been in Harry's second year. Flint was not only still a member of the team, but he was still the team captain. Nevertheless, Flint was clearly embarrassed to be attending Hogwarts at eighteen. He took out his embarrassment on the new players trying out for quidditch.

When Harry and Draco tried out the previous year, simple flying drills eliminated the worst of the players in the first wave. This year, however, Flint immediately sent the tryouts up in the air for bludger drills against last year's beaters. Nearly a dozen second- and third-year tryouts were sent to the hospital wing in the first hour. When one of the beaters began to complain of fatigue, Flint himself took over the bat and began rocketing bludgers at potential players. Flint was clearly having aggression issues.

Harry was glad that, as a returning player, he was not required to participate in preliminary drills.

Flint called on last year's returning players for Keeper/Chaser tryouts. Last year, Flint had insisted that everybody on the team learn to shoot and pass the quaffle, even beaters and seekers. Harry's had improved quite a bit; both his passing and shooting were precise, but not strong or fast. It was obvious that Harry above average in both categories, but he didn't feel as if his performance was exceptional. Harry wasn't overly concerned—he was trying out for the seeker position, which was all about flying and reflexes.

Flint was dominant, as expected. Draco and Pucey were the best of the rest, but Warrington and Montague showed good use of their size. Depending on Flint's tactics in a given week, fielding larger chasers could intimidate an opposing team to the point of distraction.

Finally, seeker tryouts. When Flint called for potential seekers, Harry stepped forward along with several other hopeful players. Harry had seen most of them fly, so he wasn't worried—they wouldn't be any threat to him. Harry was surprised, however, to see Draco step forward as well.

Flint wrote down names on a piece of parchment, creating a quick bracket. "Each match is one-on-one, best of three snitches. You win, you advance. Lose, you're out. Whoever wins the tournament is on the team as seeker."

Harry flew in the first match against a fifth year who he only knew by his face. Harry advanced easily, catching both snitches in less than two minutes. The embarrassed fifth year slunk back to the stands, face red and head down.

Draco was in the next pairing. As Draco took to the air, Harry strolled up behind Flint and looked at the bracket. If he and Draco both won all their matches, they would meet in the finals.

Harry felt torn. Part of Harry wanted Draco to do well, but another (larger) part of Harry desperately wanted the seeker position for himself. And a small, nasty part of Harry wanted both—Harry and Draco would meet in the finals, and Harry would eliminate Draco himself. It would serve Draco right for the silent treatment he was still giving Harry after Care of Magical Creatures.

The nasty part of Harry got its wish. Draco's first match, which was against an older student named Urquhart, was almost as easy as Harry's. Neither Harry nor Draco was seriously challenged in the second round, either. (Pucey, who had tried out for seeker last year, had resigned himself to playing chaser, and hadn't even entered the bracket.)

"Malfoy, Potter, you're up," Flint called across the pitch.

As Harry rose into the air, he considered all the time that he and Draco had spent flying the last two summers. He knew that Draco was better at sharp turns and body positioning, but Harry was the faster flyer for both acceleration and top speed. The greatest difference was field sense—Harry seemed to have a sixth sense for finding and chasing a snitch, but Draco had an uncanny ability to get in the way of opposing seekers to disrupt a clean catch.

In the first match, Harry was the first to see the snitch, far across the pitch. Harry was off like a shot, and the closer he came to the snitch, the farther he was ahead of Draco. The snitch began to twist and turn as Harry approached. Harry stretched out with his right hand, and the snitch darted to the left. Harry's left hand darted out and plucked the snitch from the air.

The second round was more difficult. The snitch wound its way under the bleachers, weaving back and forth among the support pillars. Harry followed as best he could, but Draco's maneuverability left Harry at a large disadvantage. Harry kept as close as he could—one lucky turn, and the snitch could be zipping directly at him. Luck was not with Harry, however; the snitch instead turned directly toward Draco. Draco grabbed the golden ball and yelled in excitement.

In the final round, the snitch stayed out in the open. Draco marked Harry closely, hoping to prevent Harry from making a straight dash at the snitch. The two boys spotted the snitch at the same time, hovering by the nearest goal posts. Harry and Draco turned in unison, and the two raced directly toward the snitch, shoulder to shoulder.

Harry began to creep ahead of Draco. Draco, desperate to negate the speed advantage, jerked his broom to the side, bumping into Harry. Harry struggled to keep control of his broom, and the brief interruption allowed Draco to catch up. Once Harry had regained control, he again began to pull ahead, and again found himself being bumped by Draco. Every time Harry tried to disengage, Draco moved closer.

Harry had to respond to Draco's physical play, or he was going to lose the match. Instead of drifting away from Draco, Harry moved in closer, placing his shoulder against Draco's and firmly pushing against the blonde boy. Draco tried to push Harry away, but Harry pushed back just as hard. Harry was unable to speed away from Draco, but Draco was unable to disrupt Harry's flight with a jarring impact.

As Harry and Draco reached the goalposts, the snitch reacted to their presence. The golden ball dove sharply and began spiraling around a goalpost as if caught in a whirlpool. Draco immediately threw himself into a sharp turn and dive, away from Harry. When Draco suddenly disengaged, Harry found himself following Draco in the turn and dive, but moving at a higher speed. His speed would cause his broom to take a wider turn than Draco's, which meant that it would take longer for Harry to get the snitch. But Harry couldn't slow down to tighten his turn—he was already behind Draco, and slowing would make things even worse. The snitch was all but lost.

Harry refused to give up. He aborted his dive and instead flew laterally, directly toward the goalpost. Just as he was about to rocket past, Harry reached out with his left arm and grabbed the wooden pole. He felt white-hot pain in his shoulder and elbow as he was jerked to a sudden stop—he wouldn't be catching any snitches with that arm for a few days. Harry was able to yank his broom into a tight spin, leaving him directly above the snitch and far closer than Draco.

As Harry dove downward he glanced to the side and saw Draco completing his turn. As his friend began the final sprint toward the snitch, Harry saw that it would be very close. Harry's desperate maneuver had given him the advantage, however, and it was clear that Harry was going to arrive at the snitch before Draco, even though it would only be by a split second.

Harry rocketed downward. As he reached out with his uninjured hand, Harry saw a green blur out of the corner of his eye: Draco, who had neither slowed nor changed his course. Yes, Harry would get to the snitch first, but Draco was certain to collide with him. Desperate to avoid the crash, Harry ducked and rolled on his broom, making a desperate grab with his good hand. There was a strong breeze as Draco shot past, barely missing Harry.

Harry pulled up softly at the end of his dive, gently landing on the ground. Draco had slowed and was hovering directly above him.

Harry raised his hand, and there was a glint of gold in the sunlight. Harry had caught the snitch.

Draco landed and furiously snatched his broom out of the air. Without saying a word, Draco began walking away from Harry toward the sidelines where the rest of the team waited.

"Great match, Draco," Harry called. It was easy for Harry to be gracious as a winner. Perhaps all that was needed to re-start his friendship with Draco was for Harry to make the first move toward reconciliation.

"Yeah," Draco said, without turning around.

Then again, perhaps not.

Ultimately, the team was the same as the previous year: Derrik and Bole as beaters, Flint, Pucey and Draco as Chasers with Montague and Warrington as reserves, Bletchley as keeper and Harry as Seeker.

When the team returned to the common room, the door had barely opened before Pansy rocketed out and enveloped Harry in a hug, congratulating him on his success. Draco forced his way past and stormed back to Slytherin without a word.

When Harry and Pansy finally returned to the common room, Draco was sitting at the piano, playing quietly. Harry automatically started walking toward Draco, but forced himself to stop halfway across the room. If Draco didn't want to congratulate Harry for making seeker, that was fine, but Harry certainly wasn't going to go fishing for approval. Harry had plenty of better things to do.

As Harry walked back to his dormitory, the soft notes of the piano followed him down the hall. Only when the dormitory door was firmly closed was Harry able to shut Draco out.

* * *

**A/N:** _Trouble in paradise! It's a good thing Harry is making new friends._


	7. Chapter 7

Harry and the rest of the Slytherins stood in the staffroom, staring at a wardrobe. Professor Lupin was lecturing about boggarts. Lupin looked awful; his face was sallow and gaunt, and his clothing seemed to hang looser on his body than usual.

"What exactly is a boggart?" Lupin asked.

Daphne Greengrass raised her hand. "Nobody knows, sir."

"True," said Professor Lupin. "Nobody knows what a boggart actually looks like, because a boggart is a shapeshifter. A boggart assumes the form of the thing that will frighten you most. Thus, we have an advantage. Harry, what advantage is that?"

"We are all frightened by different things," Harry answered easily. "When facing a group of people, the boggart won't know what shape to take."

"Precisely. It is always safer to face a boggart in a group—the boggart will become confused. A boggart who is caught between two transformations will frighten neither viewer. Boggarts are most dangerous when encountered alone. Who knows how to defeat a boggart?"

Theo Nott spoke without even raising his hand. "Laughter, Professor. A boggart feeds on fear, but is harmed by laughter."

"Correct, Theo. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, please do raise your hand in the future."

Theo blushed and looked down. Lupin continued the lecture, demonstrating the charm for repelling a boggart, and the Slytherin students dutifully repeated it.

"That was the easy part," said Professor Lupin. "Like many spells, the _riddikulus_ charm is powered by the caster's intent. The caster must imagine something amusing or funny. Your imagination, combined with the _riddikulus_ charm, will impose that image upon the boggart, allowing you to laugh in the face of your greatest fear.

"Who would like to volunteer to be the first to face the boggart?"

Harry looked around the class. Nobody had stepped forward or raised a hand. Even Theo's enthusiasm had disappeared.

Harry raised his hand. "Professor, can I speak with you privately for a moment?"

"Certainly, Harry."

Lupin and Harry stepped to one side of the staffroom. Before Harry could say a word, Lupin began speaking in hushed tones.

"Harry, I had intended to excuse you from this exercise. I suspect that having an image of Voldemort appear in front of the class would be disruptive and counterproductive."

"What?" Harry shook his head. "No, sir, it's not that."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Oh? What is it, then?"

Harry gestured toward his classmates. "Professor, I don't want to put my greatest fear on display in front of the entire class. It's really personal." Really, Harry just didn't want a room full of Slytherins knowing his greatest fear… whatever it was. Yes, they were his housemates, but that didn't mean he wanted any of them to have something on him. Harry put a concerned look on his face. "I think everybody feels that way, actually." Probably true, but Harry was more concerned about himself.

Lupin nodded. "I understand. Perhaps small groups? Three or four people will adequately confuse a boggart."

"I'd feel better about that, Professor. Thank you."

"Thank you for bringing it to my attention. And in a small group, I think you should be able to complete the exercise. If you would like."

"I would." Harry couldn't afford the appearance of being too weak to face his fear, either.

Lupin turned to address the class. "After speaking with Harry, I am making a change for today's lesson. Instead of facing the boggart as one large group, we will break into groups of three. While each group faces the boggart, the remainder of the class will wait in the hall. Please separate yourselves into groups of three or four."

Harry immediately looked for Tracey, but before he could find her, Pansy had grabbed his arm. "Harry, you're in my group." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Pansy never game him the opportunity. "Draco, you're in my group, too." Pansy latched on to Draco's arm just as hard.

Harry's gaze finally found Tracey, and he was glad to see that she was standing next to Daphne and Theo. Tracey gave him a small wave from across the room.

"All separated?" Lupin asked. "Good. Let's have Vincent, Gregory and Millicent first. Everybody else, please remain in the hall."

When Harry's group was called, Pansy was the first to face the boggart. A gnarled and misshapen old crone came lurching out of the closet. Open sores covered the boggart's body, oozing fluid. Its hair was coming out in clumps and its skin hung loosely upon its frame, as if the flesh were prepared to slough off at any moment.

"Pansy, dear," the thing croaked. "Why don't you give us a kiss?"

Pansy's breath was coming in quick, short gasps. Sweat had broken out on her brow, and Harry could see that her wand hand was shaking.

"Think of something amusing," Professor Lupin said. "It could be an action, or an article of clothing, or even a sound. Then say the charm."

Pansy briefly closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she spoke in a firm voice. "_Riddikulus._"

There was a noise like a whip crack. The boggart was now dressed in a brightly colored sombrero and poncho, carrying maracas. Pansy cackled with laughter, and the boggart turned to Harry.

Harry had spent quite a while in the hallway thinking about his fears. Although he tried to focus on Voldemort, nothing about the Dark Lord's image was particularly threatening. In Harry's first year, Voldemort had been nothing more than a misshapen face. In the Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort was a reasonably handsome young man. Voldemort intimidated Harry, but there was no visceral fright associated with the sight of him.

A dementor, however…

As the boggart turned to Harry, the bright colors on the poncho began to fade. The sombrero tipped back, and the crone's face faded into nothingness. The sombrero became the cowl of an enormous floating cloak, and the newly formed dementor loomed over Harry.

Harry took a deep breath. "_Riddikulus_."

Nothing happened.

"It's all about intent, Harry," Lupin said. "Focus."

Harry only heard his professor at a distance. He had begun to feel the creeping cold of the dementor's aura. He could hear voices, as if from far away. _"Please, not Harry!"_

Harry gritted his teeth and gripped his wand tighter. The stupid dementor was nothing but an old, dirty cloak. "_Riddikulus!_" he shouted.

There was a whip crack. The boggart was suddenly pinned to a clothesline, as if it were hanging to dry. On either side of the boggart hung enormous (and stained) pairs of Dudley's underwear. Harry burst into laughter.

"Excellent, Harry!" said Lupin. "Draco, it's your turn."

Draco stepped forward. The boggart twisted its head toward Draco and began to re-shape itself. The cloak stretched downward toward the floor and the clothesline disappeared. The hood turned yellow, then began separating itself into hair. The boggart ultimately settled into the form of Draco's father.

"I'm disappointed in you, Draco."

Harry could see Draco's eyebrows grow closer together.

"You are a blight on the Malfoy family tree," the boggart said in Mr. Malfoy's voice. "No son of mine would be outshone by mudbloods and halfbloods."

Draco began shaking his wand at the boggart, repeating "_Riddikulus_," but nothing was changing.

Lupin spoke up. "Draco, you have to focus on something amusing."

"You are pathetic," said the boggart, stepping closer to Draco. "You fail at everything you try to achieve. I would be better served by having Harry Potter as a son. He would be worthy to carry on the Malfoy family legacy, more worthy than a disgrace like you."

Harry stepped forward next to his friend. "_Riddikulus_," said Harry.

There was a whip crack, and the voice of the boggart was suddenly high and squeaky, as if it had inhaled helium. "Draco, you are not worthy!"

Draco smiled and raised his chin. "I am worthy. I am Draco Malfoy. I will not be harmed by mere words. _Riddikulus._" Another whip crack, and now the boggart's mouth was stuck shut, covered with an enormous wad of bubble gum. "_Riddikulus_," Draco said again, and now the gum was in the boggart's hair.

"Well done," said Professor Lupin. "Once more should send it back into the cabinet."

"_Riddikulus!_" Draco shouted. With a whip crack, the boggart was now encased in a giant pink bubble of gum, which rolled backwards and into the wardrobe. The door slammed shut behind the boggart.

Lupin smiled. "Nicely done, everyone. Five points each to Pansy and Harry. Draco, ten points for actually defeating the boggart."

Draco smiled. As the three students left the staffroom, Harry felt that he had to say something. "Draco-"

"Harry, if you say anything about what just happened, I will throw you from the highest tower in Hogwarts."

"Of course."

"Good. I'm sorry I haven't been speaking to you. It's juvenile, and I've been acting like a prat."

Harry grinned. "I'm sorry I haven't been speaking to you, either." Harry realized in a rush how much he had missed Draco. Eating meals with Tracy and Theo wasn't bad, but neither of them were his best friend. Harry felt connected to Draco, as if their lives were inextricably intertwined. It was surprisingly easy to apologize—keeping their friendship was far more valuable than winning an argument about… whatever it was they had been fighting about.

Pansy appeared between the two boys, throwing her arms around their shoulders. "Thank goodness! If you two didn't make up soon, I was going to do something drastic!"

"There was no need for anything drastic," said Draco.

"Drastic like what?" asked Harry.

"I had a few plans," said Pansy. "Glue your hands together was the leading candidate. If that didn't work, I was going to levitate you both into the lake and make you fight the giant squid together. My last ditch effort would have been a mind-body switch, making you live a day in the life of the other."

Draco glanced over at Harry. "Harry, I promise never to fight with you again."

Harry nodded. "I agree. No more fighting… when Pansy is around."

* * *

**A/N:** _Last short chapter, today. No more Tuesday updates for a while - we're reverting to weekly on Friday mornings._


	8. Chapter 8

Harry was dragging his feet through the hallway on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Halloween night—as usual—had been overly exciting. After the yearly feast, the Slytherins had scarcely returned to their dormitories when they were again summoned to the Great Hall. Apparently, Sirius Black had entered the castle and attempted to enter the Gryffindor common room, slashing the Fat Lady's portrait when she refused to allow him to enter. Harry had beenfurious—his invisibility cape was locked in his trunk in his dormitory, and he had no way of getting to it. He had gotten stuck in the Great Hall with all the other students, even though his chance to avenge his parents' deaths was so close at hand.

It took hours to get to sleep in the Great Hall, as speculation and rumors were far too exciting. The whirlwind of gossip continued into the next day, following Harry wherever he went.

"What I don't understand," Pansy said to Harry, "is why Sirius Black would attack the Gryffindor common room. You're in Slytherin."

"My mum and dad were in Gryffindor," Harry said. "Black probably figures I'm a Gryffindor legacy."

"You keep forgetting that you're famous, Harry. Everybody knows you're in Slytherin."

"But he's been in Azkaban for years. It's not like he has a roster of the members of each House."

Pansy and Harry continued to debate the point as they walked into the Defense classroom. Sitting at the teacher's desk was Professor Snape.

"Ms. Parkinson, Mr. Potter. Please take your seats."

Harry and Pansy sat down, exchanging perplexed looks. Where was Professor Lupin? Professor Snape answered their unspoken question at the beginning of the lesson.

"Professor Lupin is ill," Snape said. "You may have noticed his condition has been deteriorating, but his recovery is anticipated within the next three days. I will teach in his stead." Professor Snape glanced down at a parchment on the teacher's desk. "I have reviewed a record of the topics you have covered thus far. I find these topics to be less than taxing."

Again, Harry and Pansy exchanged perplexed looks. Professor Lupin was easily the best of their three Defense teachers.

"Even first year students should be able to handle Red Caps and grindylows," Snape said. "This sort of coddling will only make you weak. This class is capable of completing far more challenging work. I expect greater from Slytherin house." Crabbe and Goyle groaned loudly, which Snape ignored. "Open your books to page 394. Today we will be covering werewolves."

Snape looked around the room. "Miss Bullistrode. How would one distinguish between a true wolf and a werewolf?"

"Their snouts are different, sir?" Millicent was clearly unsure of her answer.

Snape nodded. "Correct. The snout of a true wolf is proportionally longer than that of a werewolf. A werewolf's snout may be longer in an absolute sense, but it is smaller in relation to the rest of its body. However, when you are being mauled by a slavering beast, it is unlikely that you will find time to analyze the comparative length of its muzzle. Mr. Potter, tell us another, more useful, distinguishing feature."

"Werewolves are larger, usually," Harry said.

"Usually, Mr. Potter? I asked for something useful."

Harry was desperate to justify his answer. "Some true wolves may be larger than werewolves, but an abnormally large wolf stands a strong chance of being a werewolf."

"Indeed. A werewolf's size in wolf form is roughly proportional to beast's human form. This is most noticeable with children, who transform into atypically small werewolves. Size is an indicator, but not a dispositive characteristic. Again, when you are finding yourself being mauled by an unexpectedly small werewolf, you will not find comfort in knowing that you would _usually_ have been right."

Snape turned and walked toward the blackboard. He spoke with a sigh in his voice. "Miss Davis. Please give me something of substance."

"Werewolves are solitary," said Tracey, "but true wolves are pack animals."

"Five points to Slytherin. The presence of other wolves, or the lack thereof, is the earliest warning sign that you may have encountered a werewolf. Werewolves are not social—they are outcasts among all societies, human and wolf alike. A true wolf will not abide the presence of a transformed werewolf. Moreover, true wolves are pack animals, and a lone wolf will not survive for any length of time. Any time that you encounter a single wolf with no sign of another, you should be prepared to battle a werewolf."

Snape began writing on the blackboard. "Read from page 394. Take detailed notes. You will each prepare an essay, to be submitted to me, on methods of recognizing, defeating, and ultimately killing werewolves. Two rolls of parchment, due Monday."

At the end of class, Harry approached Professor Snape. He had been planning all term to ask Professor Snape to sign his Hogsmeade permission form. (Harry's Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been rather reluctant to sign anything that would allow Harry to have fun.) Harry had carefully timed his request—in the week before the Slytherin/Gryffindor quidditch match and Snape's house pride would be at its highest, as would be Snape's desire to contrast himself to the perpetually proper Professor McGonnegal. But after Sirius Black's attack the previous night, Harry feared that he may have missed his opportunity.

"Er, Professor Snape?"

Snape looked up from the papers he was grading. "Yes, Mr. Potter? Do you have any revelations regarding werewolves that you wish to discuss with me?"

"No, sir."

"Diappointing. Perhaps later." Snape looked down at his papers and resumed his grading. "What do you want?"

"Professor, this weekend is the first Hogsmeade weekend. My Aunt and Uncle refused to sign my permission form…"

"This does not surprise me," Snape said without looking up.

"I was wondering if you would sign it for me, Professor Snape."

"Your permission form may only be signed by your guardian. I am no more a member of your mother's family than I am a Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." Snape's words were clipped and he fairly spat Harry's last name. As he spoke, his quill strokes grew more dramatic. "Do you think you deserve special treatment? Do you expect me to be mesmerized by your celebrity? I assure you, I am not."

Harry glanced down, hurt by Snape's words. Nobody would ever call Harry's head of house 'kind' or 'affectionate,' but Snape was extremely protective of his Slytherin students. The cutting denial was unexpected.

Snape seemed to sense Harry's change in mood. He looked up from his grading and his tone softened… slightly. "I will not be convinced to sign your permission slip merely because it would to make you happy. We are Slytherins, Potter, not Hufflepuffs. Considering the events of last evening, a trip to Hogsmeade would be ill-advised. You would be extremely vulnerable." Snape paused for a moment. "I assume that you are aware of Sirius Black's connection to your family?"

Harry nodded. "Mrs. Malfoy told me this summer."

"So you understand the need for caution."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Snape paused. "Is there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"You are dismissed, then." Snape scratched a quick note on a piece of parchment. "If you are late for your next class, here is your pass."

*!*!*!*!*

Harry tossed and turned in his bed, bright light from the full moon streaming through the window. Something was bothering him, refusing to let him sleep. Harry was disappointed that Snape hadn't signed his Hogsmeade permission form, but Harry hadn't really expected to succeed, either. Harry had resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to Hogsmeade.

Whatever was bothering him was something else. It was like motion in the corner of his eye—every time he tried to focus on it, it was gone. Or like a picture where there were ten things wrong, and Harry had found nine. He couldn't see the tenth, even though he knew it was there, staring him in the face. And on top of it all, the moonlight was so bright that he couldn't sleep…

Harry sat bolt upright in bed. That was it.

In a flash, Harry had thrown on his invisibility cloak and snuck down to the common room. It was more than two hours past curfew, but Harry couldn't wait. He had to know. He quietly let himself into the hallway and crept to the library.

Inside the library, Harry moved directly to the reference section. He ran his hands along the bindings of the books, looking for the Magical Creatures subsection. Once he arrived, though, he found a void between "Wendigo" and "Wurm." Somebody had removed all the books on werewolves from the library.

And Harry had a good idea who it was.

The next afternoon, Harry returned to the library. At a table in the back, surrounded by no fewer than seven open books, was Hermione Granger. She was leaning into the book she was reading, so close that her nose almost touched. The quill in her hand jerked furiously as she scrawled notes onto a piece of parchment. Harry took a seat at her table, but the bushy-haired Gryffindor didn't look up from her book.

"Granger."

Hermione jumped, startled by Harry's voice.

"Oh, Harry, I didn't see you come in."

"I know. What are you working on?"

"Professor Snape's werewolf essay," said Hermione.

"What do you think of it?" asked Harry.

Hermione cast her eyes to one side. "It's extremely interesting."

"I know!" said Harry. "For example, did you know that lycanthropy symptoms are remarkably similar to influenza?"

"Hmm, that's interesting."

"And lycanthropy is hardly dangerous, any longer, as long as the werewolf has access to the wolfsbane potion."

"Oh?" Hermione began pulling at her hair. "I hadn't really thought…"

"The only problem is that it takes a potion master to brew. Somebody like Professor Snape."

"I guess that limits distribution…" Hermione was obviously nervous now, squirming in her seat, refusing to make eye contact with Harry.

"Wolfsbane potion controls lycanthropy so well that a werewolf could live safely in almost any community." Harry paused. "For example, a school."

Hermione let out a great sigh and suddenly relaxed. "Well, as long as you know already. When did you figure it out?"

"Last night," said Harry. "I couldn't sleep because the moon was so bright. I snuck down to the library to double-check, but _somebody _had checked out all the werewolf books already."

Hermione blushed slightly. "I didn't intend to check them _all_ out. I was just going to use them in the library, but then I realized why Professor Lupin was absent from class. So I took everything back to Gryffindor. I was reading until almost 3:00 AM."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think lycanthrope is a terrible condition and the wizards who suffer from it are unfairly persecuted. They're only dangerous once per month, and the danger can be mitigated with the wolfsbane potion. The prejudice that still exists is a holdover from times when werewolves were completely out of control; it's old-fashioned and wrong." Hermione paused. "What about you?"

"Personally, I think Dumbledore is a lunatic for letting Lupin into a school full of children."

Hermione lightly hit Harry on the bicep with the back of her hand. "This is serious business, Harry! You shouldn't be making puns."

"Joking would be absolute lunacy."

Hermione hit Harry on the arm again, much harder. "You're as bad as the Weasley twins."

Harry laughed. "Seriously, though. Dumbledore wouldn't have hired Lupin if he were going to be a problem."

"So, we keep this quiet?" Granger asked.

"I think so," Harry said.

"Good. Because he's the best Defense teacher we've ever had and I'm learning loads from him. Did you get to face the boggart? Mine was Professor McGonagall, telling me that I wouldn't be allowed to sit for my O.W.L.S. because my grades were too good so I had obviously been cheating."

"How'd you defeat that?"

"I imagined the most unlikely teacher possible begging me to return to school, crawling on the ground, telling me I was the smartest witch in a generation and that he was nothing compared to me."

"Professor Snape?"

"No. Gilderoy Lockhart."

Harry burst out laughing. "The seven-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, admitting that he isn't the greatest wizard in England? That _is_ ridiculous."

The two students broke into peals of laughter.


	9. Chapter 9

The match against Gryffindor was not going well. Slytherin was in the lead, of course, but a violent storm had sprung up just before the match. Both sides were finding it difficult to score. Slytherin led by only 30 points, and it was clear that the seekers would decide the match.

Harry and Katie Bell weren't faring much better than their chasers. Harry's advantages—speed and maneuverability—were negated by the powerful winds. And while Harry was normally sharp-eyed, his glasses were covered in raindrops and nearly impossible to see through. His only advantage was that his large glasses allowed him to fly into the strong winds without squinting or closing his eyes.

Bell, as usual, was staying close to Harry, simultaneously trying to interfere with his flight while searching for the snitch herself. A distant part of Harry's mind noted that, in the rain, Bell's robes clung a bit tighter than usual, but he was far too miserable to spend much time on such thoughts.

As the match dragged on, Wood, the Gryffindor captain, called a time out. Slytherin landed near their goal hoops and huddled together. Everybody looked to Flint, the team captain, for words of wisdom.

"Harry," Flint said, "Just catch the damn snitch."

With that, the Slytherin players took to the air. As the match dragged on, Harry's hands became numb with cold. He worried that he wouldn't be able to catch the snitch, even if it hit his fingers.

Harry wouldn't have thought it possible, but the storm grew stronger. Lightning sizzled through the air, illuminating the field for split-seconds. Harry cast his eyes around, desperately looking for the glint of gold, but he could see nothing. Again lightning crashed, and Harry saw…

An enormous black dog. The Grim. It sat motionless in the empty top row of seats, coolly regarding the match. The shaggy beast turned its head. Harry couldn't be sure, but he felt as if the black dog were making eye contact with him, marking him, staring into his soul.

The black dog raised its head and released a deep, mournful howl.

As the black dog howled, Harry felt himself growing colder and colder. The howl, although rising only a second before, had already begun to fade. The noise of the crowd, the roar of the wind, all the sounds in the world were being sucked away. Harry felt light headed. Almost clinically, he noted that he was releasing his broom and falling through the air, downward, toward a crowded pile of black cloaks in the center of the quidditch pitch. But it wasn't so bad. All he had to do was close his eyes. As he gave in to the darkness, Harry saw a glimpse of red and gold.

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

A shrill voice laughed, a woman screamed, and then nothing.

As Draco and Pansy walked out of the hospital wing, Harry lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. His Nimbus 2001 was destroyed, caught in the Whomping Willow. He had almost lost the match—to Gryffindor, of all teams. Luckily, Madam Hooch suspended the match while Dumbledore drove away the dementors. Nevertheless, Harry was mortified that his weakness had been on display for the entire school. He wanted to sleep, probably forever, so that he would never have to face his embarrassment.

"Potter, are you awake?" The voice was soft.

Harry opened his eyes and sat up. Katie Bell had poked her head into the hospital wing.

"Sure, come in."

Harry's stomach did a little flip flop—probably just the aftereffects of the dementors. Or his fall. Certainly nothing to do with Katie Bell, who was walking over to sit on the bed next to Harry. She hadn't yet changed out of her quidditch robes, and her hair was still wet and thoroughly windblown. On the whole, she looked rather fit. Not that Harry was looking.

"So," said Harry, "I hear that I have you to thank for rescuing me."

"It wasn't anything special," Bell said. "You were right next to me when you fell. I hardly had to do anything."

"But really, thanks."

"Let's just call it even," Bell said. "You and I have got to stop falling off our brooms when Gryffindor plays Slytherin. It's like we're muggles, never been on a broom before."

Harry smiled. "Any word on when we'll finish the match?"

Bell shook her head. "No. Wood was pushing for us to go back onto the pitch immediately, but Flint wouldn't hear it. Madame Hooch sided with Flint, but I just think she just wanted out of the rain."

Harry nodded. A long silence fell between the two seekers.

"So…"

"So…"

"I'm sorry about your broom," Katie said. "Well, I'm not sorry about your _broom_, because it was way better than mine. But I'm sorry _you_ lost your broom."

Harry's heart stutter stepped. Suddenly frightened, Harry started babbling. "Why do we even have a Whomping Willow? Aren't there enough dangerous things at Hogwarts already? Did Dumbledore just decide to plant a tree that would demolish anything in a fifty foot radius? Seems like a great thing to have around children."

Bell laughed, and so did Harry, nervously. The two seekers grew quiet again. The silence became more and more awkward.

"Well, thanks for catching me," Harry blurted.

"It wouldn't have been right to catch the snitch while you were unconscious," Bell said.

"Oh, er, right." Harry blushed slightly. When Bell had been knocked unconscious by a bludger last year, Harry had done just that.

Bell suddenly noticed what she had said, as well. "Oh, I didn't mean, I…"

"No, I know, I know. Never mind. I know you didn't mean it."

Bell stood and nervously glanced around the room. "I'm going to go, then. Er, get well soon." With that, Bell rushed out of the hospital wing.

Harry lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. What had just happened?

"Potter, are you awake?" The voice deep and clipped, not nearly as pleasing as Katie Bell's.

Harry's eyes jerked open. Professor Snape was standing next to his bed. Harry had been sure that there was nobody in the room after Bell left.

"Yes, Professor, I'm awake. I'm sorry, I thought everybody had gone."

"How are you recovering from your encounter with the dementors?"

Harry scowled. "I'm furious. I can't believe we have to have a rematch."

"That is not what I asked, Potter."

Harry shook his head. He had been practicing his non-answers, but Professor Snape was clearly more experienced at detecting them than Harry was at giving them.

"I don't understand it," Harry said, letting his frustration creep into his voice. "Bell was as close to the dementors as I was. Why am I the only one who collapses whenever they are around?"

"Potter, every person has distasteful moments in their past, and those are the moments dementors force you to recall. Most people remember moments of shame or physical pain. I imagine that the pain in your past is rather more… vivid. Certainly worse than any memory of Ms. Bell's."

Harry spoke in a whisper. "I can hear my mother begging Voldemort for my life. I hear Voldemort laughing, then my mother screaming… "

Snape was silent for several seconds. "You remember a moment of pure horror, Mr. Potter. When your mother was killed, you were still an infant. At your age, there could be no greater horror for a child than the loss of his mother."

"But I'm not a child any longer!" Harry snapped, slamming his fist into his leg. "Why am I so weak?"

"A void left by the loss your mother… can never be filled. It does not surprise me that that you still feel pain at her loss."

"So it will never change. The dementors will always be worse for me than anybody else?"

Snape nodded. "Most likely, yes. There are ways in which one might distance one's self from such emotions, thereby becoming impervious to the aura of the dementor…"

"Perfect. That's what I want to do. Whatever it is."

"No, Potter. I will not have you go down the same road as Sirius Black."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Potter, please. How else do you think he was able to survive in Azkaban? Black cut away a part of himself that made him human. He is an animal, a monster, which is why he could survive among monsters." Snape shook his head. "It is better that your learn to defend yourself. Headmaster Dumbledore is of the same opinion."

Snape handed Harry a slip of parchment, upon which was written a date and time. "Your tutoring will begin with Professor Lupin at the start of next term."

"But… can't I study with you?"

Snape suddenly looked uncomfortable, but his voice was terse. "No. You cannot. These lessons are best taught to you by Professor Lupin. He is quite competent at performing the magic involved."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

As Snape turned to leave, Harry spoke once more.

"Professor? I figured it out. About Professor Lupin. That he's a werewolf."

Snape stopped, but did not turn to Harry. "Ten points to Slytherin for real-world application of lessons."

"Hermione Granger figured it out, as well. Before me, in fact. She already had the books checked out of the library."

"And ten points to Gryffindor." Snape shook his head. "That girl should have been a Ravenclaw. A Slytherin, at least. The only Gryffindor thing about that girl is her willingness to answer every question in class." Snape turned to Harry. "I trust that you understand the need to exercise discretion with this knowledge?"

"Of course. But if you didn't want us to know, why did you give us the assignment?"

"I wanted you to know, Potter. You, specifically. If your classmates are not clever enough to discover this on their own, then they do not deserve to know. You will pass the message to Miss Granger?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Two points to Slytherin for your exercise of discretion, and two points for your decency in giving Miss Granger credit for her work." Snape hesitated a moment. "Clearly, you are more than just your father's son." With a ripple of black cape, Snape was gone.

Harry didn't understand Snape's last comment, or the reason that Snape wanted him to know about Professor Lupin. But then again, there was a lot about Professor Snape that Harry didn't understand. Harry sighed and lay back on the bed.

"Potter, are you awake?" two voices said in unison.

"I'm really getting sick of this," Harry said as he opened his eyes a third time. Standing at the foot of his bed were Fred and George Weasley. "For all that Madame Pomfrey talks about peace and quiet, she seems to be letting an awful lot of people into the hospital wing."

"There's your mistake," said George.

"You seem to be operating under the assumption that Madam Pomfrey knows we are here," said Fred.

"Fine, then. Have you come to gloat?" asked Harry.

"Not at all," said George.

"Last year, you saved our sister, so we've been thinking about thanking you," said Fred. "Obviously, we have given you a pause in our pranking…

"…but that simply wasn't enough," said George.

"And then we had a revelation," they said in unison.

"Your broom was recently destroyed in a tragic quidditch accident, causing the postponement of a match you almost certainly would have won," said Fred.

"You are being stalked by Sirius Black," said George.

"Teachers are watching your every move, draining any sense of fun or enjoyment from even the simplest of activities, preventing you from exercising your god-given freedom," said Fred.

"Worst, you don't have a Hogsmeade permission slip," said George.

"You must be wallowing in a vast mire of self-pity," said Fred.

"Devastated," said George.

"Bemoaning the sad state of your affairs to anyone with ears," said Fred.

"Inconsolable," said George.

"Absolutely and positively crushed, much like your Nimbus 2001 in the branches of a Whomping Willow," said Fred.

"Heartbroken," said George.

"Enough!" snapped Harry.

"Right!" the twins said in unison.

"We knew we could cheer you up…" said George.

"…while also thanking you for what you've done for our family…" said Fred.

"…thus, we proudly present to you…" said George.

"THE MARAUDERS MAP!" the twins said in unison.

The twins each dropped to one knee, bowing their heads and lowering their eyes in reverence. George held his hands out, palms up, and resting upon them was a piece of blank parchment. Fred threw his hands forward, fingers splayed, as if presenting a prize on a muggle game show.

"Oh boy," said Harry. "Parchment."

The twins immediately stood.

"Not just any parchment," said George.

Fred drew his wand and tapped the parchment. "_I solemnly swear I am up to no good._"

Before Harry's eyes, the parchment filled with an introductory script, which was quickly replaced by an enormously detailed map of Hogwarts. On the map, small dots moved about, with names attached. Harry quickly scanned the hospital wing. Indeed, there were three dots very close together: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, and Harry Potter.

"How'd you make this?"

"Alas, we did not create this magnificent piece of magical mischief," said Fred. "That honor goes to Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, from whom we have learned so much. Certainly more than we have learned from the entirety of the Hogwarts staff combined."

"We nicked it from Filch," said George.

"As you can see," said Fred, "there are a great many of secret passages in Hogwarts."

"So that's how you got in here," said Harry.

George smiled. "Seven passages lead out of Hogwarts, and into…"

"Hogsmeade!" finished Harry.

"Careful," the twins said in unison.

"We're the only ones…" said Fred.

"…who get to finish each other's sentences," said George.

"Come off it," said Harry distractedly, still looking at the map. "Which passage is best?"

Fred began pointing around the map. "Don't use these four passages; Filch knows about those for sure. This one's caved in. We found that out the hard way last winter, so don't even bother. And this one's under the Whomping Willow—after your broom's latest adventure, I suggest that you don't take chances."

George pointed to another passage, hidden behind a statue of an old crone. "But number seven leads directly into Honeydukes."

"Simply follow the map's instructions, and you will safely arrive in the land of milk and honey," said Fred.

"And candy," added George.

"What's the catch?" asked Harry, suddenly suspicious.

"The only stipulation is that you promise not to use the Marauder's Map to prank us," said Fred.

"Done," lied Harry.

The twins handed over the parchment.

"You realize," said Harry, "that breaking my promise to you will be the absolute first prank I play with this map."

"We counted on it," said George.

"We can't prank the boy who bravely saved our sister," said Fred. "But a sneaky Slytherin snake?"

"A promise breaker?" said George.

"That's a person we can promptly pull a prank upon," said Fred.

"Do you two write this stuff down before you have a conversation?" Harry asked.

The Weasley twins smiled mischievously. "Almost certainly maybe not," they said in unison.

Harry rolled his eyes. "How do I turn this off, anyway?" he said, waving his hand at the map.

George tapped the map with his wand. "_Mischief managed_."

* * *

**A/N:** _Sorry I haven't been as good about responding to my reviews, lately. They still mean a lot to me. Huge thanks to all my regular readers and special thanks to my regular reviewers._


	10. Chapter 10

The Marauder's Map functioned as advertised. After his classmates had left for Hogsmeade, Harry had used the map and his invisibility cloak to sneak into the basement of Honeydukes. (He was left to wonder how the Weasley twins could sneak _out_ of Honeydukes—the masters of mischief had not shared all their secrets, apparently.) Once outside, he removed his cloak and began searching for Draco and Pansy. He found the pair drinking butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks.

"Wotcher, Draco, Pansy," Harry said as he sat down next to Draco.

"Harry!" Draco clapped Harry on the back. "How'd you get out of the castle!"

Harry shrugged. "I managed a bit of mischief. I'll tell you later. Probably."

Pansy laughed. "This calls for a celebration." She waved a hand in the air and ordered a butterbeer for Harry.

Harry had never tasted anything as delicious as butterbeer. "They serve this stuff to kids?" Harry asked, taking another sip.

Draco glanced at Pansy. "Muggle raised."

"Hey!" Harry pointed a finger at Draco. "I have been a lot better! You hardly say that anymore."

"I very well couldn't, last year," said Draco. "You might have petrified me."

"That wasn't me and you know it," said Harry. He was too happy to be upset with his friend.

"Anyway, you have gotten better," said Pansy. "I knew we could make a wizard out of you."

"I'll prove I'm a wizard by hexing you, if you don't quit provoking me," said Harry with a laugh.

A shadow fell over the table and a hand dropped onto Harry's shoulder. Harry slowly turned around, certain that he had been caught by Professor Snape. Unexpectedly, the hand was attached to Marcus Flint.

"Potter, Malfoy, I wanted to talk to you." Flint walked around the table and lightly kicked at Pansy's chair leg. "Get lost, Parkinson."

Pansy screwed up her face. "Always with the quidditch. I needed to use the Little Witches Room, anyway."

Flint sat down in Pansy's vacated seat. "Potter, do you have a new broom yet?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm going to order over winter holidays. It will be here before practice starts again."

Draco chimed in. "Until then, he can use one of the old house brooms. They aren't 2001s, but they're still as good as anything the other teams are flying."

Flint nodded. "They'll be fine for practice."

Harry sensed that Flint was leaving something unsaid. "Practice?"

"Practice," said Flint. "You're on the reserves until further notice."

Harry suddenly felt light. It was the strangest feeling, as if his arms and legs didn't belong to him. He couldn't have possibly heard that right. But Flint was just sitting there, staring at him. Harry felt like he wasn't seeing through his own eyes any more, like he was set back somehow, simply observing, not acting, like he was seeing things in a dream, or watching a movie. Because this couldn't be real. Harry was seeker for Slytherin. Harry's quidditch points had been crucial in Slytherin's house cup victory last year. He wasn't just the youngest seeker in the school, he was the best. Getting grounded, getting sent to reserves… that was absurd.

"Flint," Harry said. The name caught in his throat—he barely choked it out. "Flint. You're grounding me? You can't be serious."

"Dead serious, Potter. I can't take a chance at you fainting during a match. We're lucky we were playing Gryffindor—their seeker was stupid enough to catch you instead of the snitch. Any other team and we'd have lost that match."

"I didn't faint, Flint." Harry's voice sounded weak in his ears. "It was the dementors."

"And what happens when they show up at the next match?" asked Flint.

"Dumbledore will keep them away," Harry said.

Flint shook his head. "No chances. We can't afford to lose a match this year."

Harry's temper flared. "You mean _you_ can't afford to lose a match this year."

Flint's expression grew dark. He leaned forward and spoke in low voice. "Yes, Potter, I mean _I_ can't afford to lose a match this year. This is my last chance at a quidditch contract and I'm not going to let you ruin it for me." Flint sat up. "Frankly, I'm surprised that you didn't see this coming. I knew you had a head injury as a child, but I didn't realize it made you stupid."

Harry was feeling something, he just didn't know what. His stomach was rolling, he had broken out in a sweat. For some reason, his foot was uncontrollably tapping the floor. He simultaneously felt weak, but also as if he needed to run to get rid of nervous energy. He could go to sleep, or he could run for an hour. He wanted to do either. Or both.

"Who'll play seeker?" Harry asked.

"Why do you think I wanted to talk to both you and Malfoy?" Flint turned to Draco. "You're it. Don't screw this up for me."

Draco's eyes grew wide. "I won't," he said.

As Flint stood up, Harry grabbed his arm. "Flint, I'm getting lessons on repelling dementors. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." Flint shook his arm, knocking Harry's hand away. "When you've got it beat, you're back on the squad. Until then, I can't afford your weakness." Flint stalked out of the Three Broomsticks.

Harry stared after Flint. From the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw a smile break out on Draco's face. But that would be ridiculous. There's no way his friend would be so cruel. Without moving his head, Harry turned his eyes toward Draco.

There was no denying it. His friend's smile was wider than Hagrid's waist.

Harry felt a sharp pain in his palms. He looked down. Without realizing it, he had clenched his hands into his fists, and his fingernails had left crescent-shaped marks in his palms.

Pansy returned and sat down across the table from Harry. "Harry, are you okay? You look weird."

Harry said nothing. He grabbed his butterbeer and took a deep drink, but it tasted like ashes.

"Are you okay, mate?" Draco asked. "Harry?" There was a look of concern on Draco's face, now. Harry wished he could believe it was genuine. Harry didn't respond.

"What happened?" Pansy asked Draco.

Draco quickly recounted their conversation with Flint. A smile flitted across his face when he mentioned that he had been named Seeker. Pansy scowled at him, then turned to Harry.

"Let's go to Honeydukes, Harry," Pansy said. "We'll get some sweets, take them back to the dormitory, and gorge ourselves on chocolate."

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's not a girl, Pansy. He needs to take out his aggression on something—preferably something wearing red and gold. Harry, why don't we take your invisibility cloak and play a prank on some Gryffindors? I saw Weasley hanging around the Shrieking Shack earlier."

Harry shook his head. He had no desire to spend time alone with Draco. "Let's just go to Honeydukes," he said. Harry stood immediately and began walking out of the Three Broomsticks. He could hear Pansy and Draco scrambling behind him, trying to get their cloaks on. As Harry stepped outside, he squinted in the sunlight. The sun had no right to be shining so brightly. It was offensive.

Harry walked ahead of his friends on the way to Honeydukes. Pansy and Draco spoke in hushed tones behind him. Harry was sure they were talking about him. While the greater part of Harry knew that no good could come of eavesdropping, a self-destructive part of him wanted to know what they were saying. Harry began slowing his pace, dropping backwards so that his friends grew closer.

"I'm not the one who grounded him," Draco was saying to Pansy.

"I never said you were," Pansy said.

"Then why are you mad at me?"

"You completely abandoned self-control! You were smiling about it in front of Harry!"

"I was not," said Draco, but his voice wasn't sure.

Pansy wasn't mad at Draco for being happy; she was mad at Draco for _showing it_. Harry snorted, painfully amused. Pansy and Draco abruptly stopped speaking, realizing that Harry was far closer to them than they had thought. They walked the rest of the way to Honeydukes in silence, and that was fine with Harry. It allowed him to brood.

Being grounded wasn't fair. He couldn't help that dementors affected him more than anybody else in his entire year. Or house. Or school. It wasn't his fault that he was weak. Harry ground his teeth together in frustration. He would learn how to stop a dementor. He would learn how to defeat one. If possible, he would learn how to kill one. He refused to allow himself to be vulnerable. He refused to allow himself to be crippled by the mere presence of a glorified bath robe. He would be strong.

When the entered Honeydukes, Harry stopped abruptly inside the door. The happy chatter and laughter was nauseating. Pansy tugged at his arm, trying to get him to browse with her, but Harry shook her off and said nothing. Instead, he drifted toward a display of Chocolate Frogs. He stood there, staring vacantly at the sweets.

Eventually, Draco approached him from the side. Pansy stood behind him.

"It's not that bad," Draco said. "We're the best team in school, and I was right behind you at tryouts. When you come back, we'll still be leading for the cup."

"It's not about that." Of course it wasn't, and Draco knew that. Harry was the seeker. That's who he was. Now that he wasn't a seeker, who was he?

Harry had to get away from Draco. He moved deeper into the store, but Draco and Pansy followed him, still empty words full of vacant optimism. Three aisles later, Harry bumped into Crabbe and Goyle. The two large Slyterins had their hands full of sweets. Goyle had turned up the front of his shirt and was using it like a bag, allowing him to carry more.

"Blimey," said Goyle when he saw Harry. "I didn't think you had a Hogsmeade pass."

"I don't, so shut up about it," Harry snapped.

"But Professor Snape will have kittens if he finds out," Goyle said.

"So I won't let him find out. It's called, 'Thinking like a Slytherin.'" Harry jabbed his index finger against his temple. "You should try it, sometime. Actually, why don't you try 'thinking,' first? Don't want to strain yourself."

Crabbe looked at Draco. "What's wrong with Potter?"

"Flint put him on quidditch reserves," Draco said.

"You got grounded? Because of the dementors?" blurted Goyle. "That's really wea-"

Harry clenched his fists. "Goyle, if you finish that word I swear I will punch you."

Goyle pushed his shoulders back and drew himself up to his full height. He dropped the sweets out of his shirt and onto the nearby counter. "Watch it, Potter. You-"

Harry stepped forward, quickly, bringing himself nose-to-nose with Goyle. The larger boy tried to step back, startled, but Goyle was pressed up against shelves of sweets and had nowhere to go.

"You think you know how to fight like a muggle, Goyle?" Harry hissed. "You won't even have a chance to get your wand. I'll punch your teeth right out of your fat face and take them home for a souvenir." Harry's vision started going dark. Everything began turning green, as if he were looking at things through a piece of glass. "I will not hesitate to leave you crying in a bloody heap on the floor of Honeydukes, Goyle. Shut your stupid mouth."

"Muggle raised," Crabbe whispered to Draco, but not quietly enough.

Harry spun away from Goyle to face Crabbe. Harry held his fist inches from Crabbe's nose and raised his middle finger. Then, without a word, Harry stalked out toward the door.

Harry heard Pansy sigh behind him. "Harry, wait!"

Harry ignored her and continued outside. He stormed down the street and turned into the first alley he could find. On the main street, Pansy was still chasing after him, yelling for Harry to stop. Before Pansy could get to the alley, Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak and disappeared into a swirl of nothingness. By the time Pansy rounded the corner, there was nothing for her to see but an empty alley.


	11. Chapter 11

Word of his shameful grounding had spread quickly among the students in Slytherin. Glances and whispers followed Harry wherever he walked, and he could hardly bear it. Mercifully, winter holidays began almost immediately after the weekend at Hogsmeade, and none of Harry's classmates in Slytherin remained at Hogwarts for holidays. Their parents were far too well-off to allow their children to languish at school.

As Harry came down for breakfast on the first day of hols, he found the Great Hall nearly deserted. Harry drifted toward the Gryffindor table, and sat next to Ron Weasley. Ron's sister Ginny was seated at the table, as well, along with Hermione Granger.

"This is becoming a tradition," Harry said.

"Hmpfy hmwuhdyfs," Ron mumbled, mouth full of food.

"What?"

Ginny translated: "Happy holidays."

"Oh. You too." Harry helped himself to some pancakes. "Is your whole family staying on for hols?"

Ron nodded and swallowed. "Fred and George aren't awake yet. Percy is off somewhere doing something… head-boy-ish."

"That's nice," said Harry. "How about you, Hermione? Why are you sticking around?"

"I have some school work to catch up on," she said.

Ron both burst out laughing, and even Harry was forced to grin.

"I'm serious," Hermione insisted. "I can't work on anything at home because I'm not allowed to do magic. Homework is more than essay writing, you know."

"I know," said Harry. "But you work so hard as it is. For you to work any harder, there'd have to be two of you." Ron and Ginny laughed, but Hermione went white as a sheet.

"What are we laughing about?" asked Fred and George Weasley in unison as they sat down at the table.

"Just taking the mickey out of Hermione," said Harry. "What have the two of you been up to, lately? Things have been unusually quiet in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts."

"You're starting to sound like Fred," said Ron.

"Filch has become… bothersome," said George, responding to Harry's question.

"Our beloved caretaker has been interfering with our prank preparations, appearing inopportunely," said Fred.

"It's uncanny," said George. "At least four times."

Harry nodded, a grave expression on his face. "It's almost as if somebody could see your exact location in the castle, and knew exactly when you broke curfew, and was giving anonymous tips to Filch whenever you went to the same spot two days in a row."

Fred and George glanced at each other, and their faces broke into identical grins. Harry, unable to maintain a straight face, began to smile as well.

"Now what are we laughing about?" asked Ron.

"Based on Potter's prank, it is now open season on our overly observant…" Fred trailed off.

"Opponent," suggested Hermione.

"Opponent," finished Fred. "Thank you."

Harry found it pleasant to spend time with the Gryffindor students. Unlike his friends in Slytherin, there was no judgment for being grounded on the quidditch team. Harry guessed that the Weasleys respected his flying ability too much, while Hermione simply didn't understand the sport at all.

Christmas came rather quickly. Harry exchanged gifts by mail with Draco, Pansy and Tracey. He received gifts from his friends, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. Draco's gift was rather thoughtful—it was the book of curses that Harry and Draco had found so interesting in Borgin and Burke's the year before. There was a note tucked inside: "_In case you need to take out some aggression. –D_"

The Dursleys sent a small package and a store-bought card that read, "Happy Third Birthday to the Best Daughter in the World." Harry checked the back of the card: it had been on clearance, and his Aunt and Uncle hadn't bothered to remove the tag. Enclosed in the package, Harry found a stale bagel. It was more than half-eaten—Dudley had apparently gotten hungry on the way to the post office.

Harry's greatest surprise came at breakfast, when a large owl swooped into the great hall and deposited an enormous wrapped package in front of Harry. The package was almost as long as Harry was tall. There was no card attached. From the shape of the package, Harry wondered if it could be a broom, but he never expected to open…

"A Firebolt."

"No way," said Ron, leaning in closer to look. Ron reached out tentatively, but stopped short of touching the broom, awed by its presence. "Harry, that's the most expensive broom in the world!"

"Nice," said George Weasley. "Glad you're suspended."

"Shut up," said Harry automatically. He was too excited about the broom to be angry at George.

Fred leaned in for a look as well. "Apparently, Potter's pals are pretty…"

"Puppets?" suggested Ginny.

"Why would I say puppets?"

"It goes with Potter's pals?"

Fred shook his head. "Prosperous. Potter's pals are pretty prosperous."

"Who's that from?" asked Hermione.

"No card," said Harry, turning the broom over in his hands. The wood was polished and smooth—it felt fast, as if it was ready to zip out of Harry's hands at any second.

"I don't know if you should be accepting gifts from strangers," said Ginny. She spoke quietly but intensely.

"Ginny has a point," said Hermione.

"I'm sure it's fine," said Ron. "It's a Firebolt."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Who would buy that for Harry and not include a card?"

Harry had a good guess: Draco's dad. Lucius Malfoy had purchased the entire Slytherin quidditch team Nimbus 2001s the year before, and Harry and Mr. Malfoy had looked extensively at Firebolts earlier in the year at Diagon Alley. But why wouldn't he include a card?

As soon as Harry asked himself the question, he knew the answer. Lucius wouldn't include a card, because Draco would be jealous. Draco was desperate for his father's approval. Whatever the sign—a gift, an approving word, attention, a hug or a pat on the back—Draco was desperate for it all. If Draco knew that his father bought Harry a Firebolt, especially after Draco had just been named seeker… it might end their friendship.

"Come off it, Hermione," Ron said. "It's more than a broom—it's a work of art. Mucking with a Firebolt would be criminal."

"You keep making my point, Ronald." Hermione folded her arms. "What if it _is_ criminal? What if Sirius Black sent Harry that broom?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "How would Black know that Harry needed a new broom? And how would he have the money to send Harry a Firebolt?"

"Well… I don't like it," said Hermione, frowning.

"I guess we'll just have to fly it this afternoon and see, won't we?" Ron turned to Harry. "What do you say, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I think Hermione is right. The risk doesn't outweigh the reward. Besides, Flint grounded me. Even if it isn't cursed, I still can't play quidditch."

"You're really going to let that sit in your dormitory without flying it?" Ron asked.

"Really, I am," Harry said.

Ron shook his head. "Is there some sort of poison mold down there in the dungeons that makes you lot act completely crazy?"

"Shut up, Ron."

That night, Harry propped the Firebolt in the corner of his dormitory. He sat on his bed, staring at the broom. He was sure that flying could bring him out of his sour mood, and he was desperate to try the new broom…but he knew that he couldn't. Professor Snape had left for holidays, but as soon as he returned, Harry would ask him to examine the Firebolt.

The day before classes resumed, all the students returned to Hogwarts. Snape had returned them on the Hogwarts Express, and Harry had immediately took the Firebolt to Snape's office.

"Professor Snape?" Harry poked his head around the open door.

"Enter."

Harry walked into the office. Snape was bent over a parchment, carefully considering a complex potion formula that Harry didn't recognize.

"What is so important, Mr. Potter, that you must interrupt me immediately upon my return to Hogwarts?"

Harry felt himself begin to blush, but he refused to allow himself to be embarrassed. He knew he was making the right decision. "It's my broom, sir. It was sent by owl as a Christmas gift, but there was no card attached."

Snape was quiet for a moment. "Why have you brought the broom to me?"

"I don't think it's from Sirius Black, but it might be," Harry said. "I didn't want to ride it until you had checked it for curses."

"A wise choice, Potter," said Snape, rising and stepping around his desk. "I would expect no less from a Slytherin."

"Thank you, sir."

"The broom, please?" Snape held out his hand, and Harry handed over the broom. "It will be returned two days from now," Snape said.

"Thank you," said Harry. Harry turned to leave, but Snape's voice called him back.

"Potter? For your own edification, I suggest that you observe the curse breaking process. Meet me outside the second floor Charms rooms this evening at seven o'clock."

Harry smiled. "Yes, sir."

Harry was fidgeting for the rest of the afternoon, unable to sit still or focus at any single task. Even when Tracey suggested a game of gobstones, Harry was unable to concentrate. Tracey beat him badly, then offered a rematch.

"What's got you so distracted?" Tracey asked.

Harry immediately launched into the story of the Firebolt. "So," Harry said, "Granger thought that the Firebolt might be from Sirius Black-"

"I think she's right," said Tracey. "You should take it to Professor Snape. You don't know who sent it, and it could be cursed."

"Right, so-"

"Think of all the awful things it could be," Tracey said. "Maybe it's a homing curse that tells Sirius Black exactly where you are when you're flying the broom. Maybe the broom is enchanted to fly out of the castle and let Sirius Black inside. Maybe the broom is enchanted to throw you off if you fly it high enough."

"I agree," said Harry. "So I-"

"Maybe it's a time delayed curse, and the broom will explode after you ride it a particular number of times. Maybe the curse slow acting, and you're cursed already just from holding the broom. Maybe you haven't noticed and it's cumulative and it builds over time until it kills you."

"Maybe." Harry was beginning to think that Tracey wasn't listening to him.

"If I was trying to curse you, this is exactly how I would do it. Think about it. If I were trying to curse Goyle, I'd use a cupcake." Tracey gestured across the room, where Goyle was more interested in picking his nose than reading the open Astronomy textbook in front of him. "Goyle would eat a cupcake that he found lying on the ground, no questions asked."

Harry smiled and thought back to winter holidays in his second year. "Too true."

"And if I were going to give something cursed to Parkinson," Tracey said, "I'd make it something shiny—earrings, or a necklace. Hemione Granger, I'd use-"

"A book," said Harry.

"Right. Now, if I'm Sirius Black, and I'm trying to kill Harry Potter, what do I use? Jewelry? Sweets? A book? No, I give him a broom so amazing that he couldn't possibly resist riding it. You have to take it to Professor Snape, Harry. I can't believe you're being so irresponsible-"

"TRACEY!" Harry slammed his open hands down on the table. Several gobstones rolled off the board. Harry was amused, but he had to stop Tracey at some point.

Tracey jerked as if shocked. "What, Harry?"

"I've been agreeing with you the entire time!"

"You have?"

"Yes!" Harry laughed. "I gave it to Snape already."

"But… you're such a boy! I figured that you'd been flying the broom since you got it."

"No, Snape's checking it out this evening, and he told me to come watch." Harry glanced at the clock. "Actually, it's almost time for me to leave."

"Great!" Tracey stood. "Let's go."

"Er…"

"Harry, don't even think of leaving me behind. This sounds so cool!"

Tracey started tugging at Harry's arm. Harry allowed himself to be pulled off the couch and into the hallway. Together, he and Tracey walked to the Charms classroom, where they found Professor Snape waiting with the Firebolt.

"Ms. Davis," said Snape, "I am surprised to see you here."

Tracey looked down, all the confidence suddenly gone from her voice. "Harry told me about the Firebolt, sir, and it sounded so interesting…"

"Very well. Perhaps you will both learn something tonight." Snape led Tracey and Harry into a Charms classroom, into the supply room, and then through another door covered in curious runes. Snape pulled open the door and led Harry and Tracey inside. The room was lit by a blue light that seemed to come from everywhere, with no particular source. The floor was made of stones which seemed to form some sort of massive mosaic, arranged in intricate swirls and curves.

"Do either of you recognize this room?"

Both Tracey and Harry shook their heads.

"This is a stasis chamber," Snape said. "The stasis chamber will allow me to examine the enchantments on the broom without triggering them, or any curses." Snape directed Harry and Tracey to a circle of stones. "Stand here."

Once the students were inside the circle, Snape tapped the floor with his wand. The outmost row of stones flashed, then began glowing a steady, bright blue. "This is a ward, for your protection. Any curses I trigger should be arrested by the stasis chamber, but one must always be prudent."

"Why wouldn't you just strip the enchantments?" Harry asked. "It would be the quickest way of making sure there were no curses."

Snape sighed. "Do muggle brooms fly, Mr. Potter?"

"Er… of course not."

"Why?"

"Because they're just wood and twigs, sir."

"And if I stripped your broom of its enchantments, what would it be?"

Harry hung his head, ashamed that he hadn't realized before. "Of course, sir."

"The enchantments make the broom, Mr. Potter, and I am not a broommaker. If I disenchanted your broom, I would be no more able replace the enchantments than you. These enchantments are proprietary magic, and their casting is a closely guarded secret." Snape stepped into the center of the chamber and placed the Firebolt on the floor. He retreated several paces, then waved his wand. The Firebolt rose into the air and began to rotate slowly, surrounded by a blue-white glow.

"We must determine if your broom is cursed, and remove any curses we find, without destroying your broom's ability to fly." The corner of Snape's mouth twitched upwards. "It would be a tragedy to ruin Slytherin's chance at an eighth consecutive quidditch cup."

As Harry watched, Snape waved his wand and several runes appeared, floating in the air around the broom. The runes glowed in the same blue-white light.

"The first step," Snape said, "is to identify the individual enchantments upon the broom. A poor attempt at cursing the broom will be revealed at this stage, as simply an enchantment or curse overlay." Snape began gesturing with his wand, and the various runes grew in size, allowing him to examine them in detail. "Each of these runes represents an enchantment or curse. Mr. Potter, if I find a curse at this level and remove it, is our work done?"

Harry was on guard for trick questions. "No, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because… if Sirius Black is as sneaky and powerful as everybody says he is, he wouldn't leave a trap that was so easily disarmed. If we find anything easily, it's probably meant to be a decoy curse."

"Precisely," said Snape. "Next, we must manipulate the individual enchantments, to determine if their structure has been altered. A skilled wizard can hide curses inside enchantments—essentially, cutting the enchantment open and inserting the curse into an otherwise inert portion of the spell, usually the structural or temporal parameters."

Harry glanced at Tracey, who shrugged at him.

Snape was now enlarging the individual runes to enormous sizes. He used his wand to probe and prod the runes, moving the glowing lines in various directions. "Professor Flitwick will describe this theory to you again in your seventh year, in greater detail. For now, imagine the enchantment as a piece of black string, and the curse as a piece of red string. It is possible to cut the black string, and tie the red string into the middle. A lazy wizard would only examine the beginning of the enchantment for its identity, and the end of an enchantment for its correct effect. The curse, self-contained, would never be noticed."

"What sort of curses are you looking for, sir?" Harry asked.

"Nothing as simple as a Hurling Hex," said Snape. "Something more insidious. Slow-acting poison, perhaps, or something that would attract dementors. Perhaps a curse that would trigger in the presence of a golden snitch, or a certain number of other brooms."

Harry's eyes grew wide. Neither he nor Tracey had considered these possibilities.

Snape had now arranged the runes into a single-file line. Snape stood at the front of the line and peered straight through to the end. "Next we examine for a sequential curse. The various components of the curse would be split and hidden in individual enchantments. Only when the enchantments were used in a particular sequence would the curse be triggered. This is commonly used for self-destructing enchantments, either as security measures or emergency protection. Ms. Davis, why am I viewing the enchantments from this angle?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

"Potter?"

"I don't know either, sir."

Snape sighed. "The components of the curse will arrange themselves into a rune representing the curse. By viewing from front to back, sequentially, I am able to visually examine for curse rune formations. Further, because I am viewing in overlay, rather than actually triggering the enchantments, the curse will be revealed but not activated." Snape waved his wand, and the runes rearranged themselves into a different order. Again and again Snape rearranged the runes, each time examining them for curses. With a final flick of his wand, Snape sent the runes into their original formation.

"Finally, we will examine for an underlying curse. This would be the most difficult of curses for Black to create, but also the most difficult to identify. An underlying curse exists beneath all other enchantments. It is sometimes placed on a specific portion of an item—the handle only, for example, or a particular broom twig. Enchantments are then layered on top of the curse, preventing its discovery. Potter, how would I detect an underlying curse?"

Harry searched his brain for anything that would sound intelligent. "You could bind the enchantments together and move them to a particular portion of the broom, then examine the revealed portion for underlying curses?"

"Impressive. And what if the underlying curse enchanted the whole broom?"

"I don't know, sir."

"The technique for detecting an underlying curse depends upon the magical object. With your broom, I will simply transfer the enchantments to an easily removed twig…" Snape waved his wand, and the enchantments clustered on one twig near the end of Harry's broom. Snape tapped the twig with his wand, and with a sharp *crack* it fell into his hands. "Because the broom has retained its identity as a broom, any underlying enchantments that were cast upon the broom or a portion thereof would be revealed at this point. As you can see, nothing has surfaced. Now, with a simple _reparo_, your broom is again made whole." Snape reattached the twig with a tap of his wand. "We will quickly check to make sure that I did not select, by unfortunate coincidence, the only twig with an underlying curse…" Snape repeated the processes, this time removing another twig.

"That seems rather easy, sir." Harry was skeptical.

"For a wizard of my caliber, yes, it _seems_ easy." Snape gave Harry a harsh glance. "Trust me when I say that it is not. Simultaneous manipulation of multiple enchantments, recognition and removal of curses, all of this while leaving your heavily enchanted broom unharmed… Of your professors, only Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick, and perhaps Professor McGonagall could examine your broom as I have. Both Flitwick and McGonagall would take considerably longer than I, as well."

Snape stepped forward and plucked Harry's broom from the air. The blue-white aura faded. "Your Firebolt, Mr. Potter, is clean."

With a bright smile, Harry seized his broom.


	12. Chapter 12

The first practice of the term was cold, but Harry hardly noticed. Harry had spent weeks thinking about this moment. It would be his first flight on his Firebolt. His first opportunity to show Flint that grounding him was a mistake. His chance to show that the seeker position belonged to him.

Flint had other ideas.

"Potter, line up at chaser."

"Why?"

"Malfoy is playing seeker against Ravenclaw. He needs to practice. That puts us down a chaser for our drills." Flint clasped his hands together as if he were pleading, and his voice filled with yearning. "If only we had another player on the team, a player who wouldn't be playing seeker against Ravenclaw, a player who could rescue us by lining up as chaser for our drills."

"I get it, Flint."

Flint's voice became hard. "Then line up at chaser, and stop asking stupid questions."

Harry lined up where he was told and began running through the passing and shooting drills with Flint, Pucey, Warrington and Montague. Harry's Firebolt flew like a dream. It accelerated smoothly and quickly, and braked almost as easily. The turning was crisp and controlled, and at top speed the Firebolt left the Slytherin Nimbus 2001s in its wake.

But chasers are not made by brooms alone. Harry's was not nearly as strong as Flint or Pucey, and his passes and shots were far slower. Harry compared slightly better against Warrington and Montague, but his shots and passes were still the slowest on the team by a clear margin. Harry surprised himself, however, with the accuracy of his passing and shooting in the complex chaser drills. All his passes were caught easily, and all his shots made it through the hoops. And catching the quaffle was no problem, compared to the tiny, elusive snitch.

After a break for water, Flint arranged a three-on-two drill. Flint, Pucey and Montague, who was replacing Draco as a seeker for the Ravenclaw match, would attack the rings with the quaffle. Harry and Warrington would try to defend as opposing chasers.

The first two times through the drill, Harry was badly out of position, and Flint's team scored easily. In the next three attempts, Harry started to understand his defensive positioning much better. Flint's team still scored, but it was significantly more difficult.

To begin the sixth attempt, Flint started with the quaffle, lining up to Harry's right, across from Warrington. As Flint began flying toward the rings, Harry could suddenly _see_. It was as if he had been viewing the field through a fog, but the fog had suddenly lifted. Harry could see how Flint's ability to shoot would force Warrington to overcommit to the right, isolating Harry between Pucey and Montague. Harry could see how Montague's larger body would make him a slower flyer than Pucey—Harry would have to cover Pucey to prevent him from using his speed to get close to the rings. Meanwhile, Montague, trailing behind, would be more likely to receive the pass from Flint.

As Flint flew forward, Warrington moved closer to Flint. Harry drifted backwards, staying between Flint and Pucey. Warrington moved aggressively toward Flint, forcing Flint to pass or shoot. Flint was too far from the rings to score on a keeper of Bletchley's caliber—he had to pass. As Flint pulled back his arm, Harry darted forward. Flint hurled the quaffle at Montague, but Harry was there already, yanking the quaffle out of the air and continuing between Flint and Montague, as if attacking the opposing rings.

Playing defense was suddenly easy for Harry. It was as if he could see a step ahead of whatever Flint thinking. If Pucey had the quaffle, Harry was three steps ahead; against Montague, Harry was five. Harry tore through their offense like a dervish, intercepting passes, blocking shots, disrupting plays, and generally preventing anybody from scoring. Flint and Pucey began taking difficult shots from bad angles, and Bletchly easily made the saves. What had started as an easy drill had quickly become impossible.

Flint became frustrated. Slytherin had dominated the quidditch cup for several years, so Flint becoming frustrated didn't happen often. But when it did, there was hell to pay. Flint called for another water break.

"We're shuffling positions in the drill," Flint said. "Potter, you're on offense with Montague and Warrington. Pucey and I are on defense."

Harry glanced at Warrington and Montague. Their biggest advantage was their size; Warrington and Montague were large, but that also made them slow. Even with greater numbers, Harry knew that his team would struggle to score.

As Flint lined up across from Harry to start the drill, Harry realized that the positioning was no accident. Flint was glowering, irritated by his poor performance in the previous drill. Clearly, Flint was preparing going to take out his frustration on Harry.

Harry smiled. If that's the way Flint wanted it, Harry was willing to oblige. This was nothing new to Harry, who had spent years as the target of the Dursleys' displaced anger. If Flint wanted to start venting frustration, Harry would be happy to reciprocate; Harry had plenty of pent up frustration from spending weeks on the ground without a broom.

As the drill began, Warrington and Montague passed the quaffle among themselves. Harry flew quickly toward the rings, and Flint drifted backward slightly, giving ground in order to prevent Harry from passing him. When Flint glanced away to check on the quaffle, Harry rammed his Firebolt to full speed and zipped past his distracted captain. Harry raised a hand, and Montague lobbed the quaffle forward. Harry caught the quaffle and was left all alone, only Bletchly to beat in order to score.

Harry reared back for a shot. Bletchly floated outward, making himself appear larger and cutting down Harry's shooting angles. Harry took his shot, throwing the quaffle at the far right ring, twisting his wrist as he released. Bletchley moved to make the save, but the quaffle passed by his outstretched hands.

Bletchley had a bad habit of taunting opposing chasers by smiling when they missed shots or he made a save. The smile on Bletchley face was as big as Harry had ever seen; the keeper knew that Harry's shot was aimed wide. But Bletchley was so busy smiling that he didn't see Harry's shot begin to curve, moving closer and closer and closer to the ring…

Behind Bletchley, there was a hollow wooden "thunk." Bletchley looked over his shoulder just in time to see Harry's shot fall through the ring for a score. When Bletchley turned back, Harry was the one smiling.

Harry, Warrington and Montague didn't score on every attempt, but they scored more often than they didn't. Harry's passes weren't the fastest, but they were always on target. His shots weren't the hardest, but they dipped and curved and generally went where Harry wanted them. And Harry always seemed to be in the right position to receive a pass, especially when Warrington or Montague got cornered by the defenders.

Flint finally called an end to the drill. All five Slytherin chasers were breathing hard from their efforts.

Harry landed next to the water cauldron, and Flint landed roughly next to him.

"Potter, I don't like you making a fool of me."

"What?" Harry had no idea what Flint meant. He had done well in that drill, but Flint certainly hadn't looked foolish.

"Where the hell did that flying come from? And don't say it's your Firebolt, either. No broom does that much."

"I'm just running the drill, Flint."

"The hell you were. I've seen you run chaser drills in the fall, this year and last. You were garbage, Potter."

"So? You're angry that I got better? Isn't that why we practice?"

Flint reached out and grabbed the front of Harry's robes. Flint jerked Harry closer and snarled in Harry's face. "There's no way you improved that much. You were sandbagging at tryouts, Potter."

"Wait. You think I'm good at playing chaser?"

"I get it, Potter. You and Malfoy, you're the same. You both want to be seeker. You want the glory. Chaser isn't good enough. So you fly like you can't play Chaser at tryouts. You make me think that you're a seeker or you're nothing." Flint pushed Harry away. "You'll play where I tell you to play."

"What does it look like I'm doing!?" Harry threw his arms out to his sides.

"Sandbag me again, and you won't play at all," Flint said. The older boy jumped onto his broom and shot into the air.

Harry looked around. Pucey was standing nearby.

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

"Come on, Potter. Flint's right. It takes a lot of nerve to hide that sort of skill from your teammates."

"You're both serious." Harry was astounded. "You think I'm a good chaser? You've seen me run solo drills before. I'm rubbish!"

"Potter, the way you played today? You could be a starting chaser on any team in the school. Including this one." Pucey hopped onto his broom and followed Flint into the air.

After a moment, Harry joined them. The joy of being back on a broom, though, was gone.

*!*!*!*!

Harry collapsed into a chair in Lupin's office, automatically taking the chocolate his professor was offering him. His anti-dementor lessons were going terribly—he was only able to produce a feeble white mist, and never consistently. Even against a simple boggart, his Patronus charm was feeble.

"I heard my father, that time," Harry said.

"You heard… James?" Professor Lupin asked, a strange look on his face.

"It's getting worse," Harry said. He was developing a headache; he pinched his nose and clamped his eyes shut. "I'm hearing more and more of their voices from the night they died."

Lupin shook himself, as if he was physically ridding himself of the thought of death. "You shouldn't be frustrated," Lupin said. "This charm is well beyond O.W.L. level, and you're casting it well enough to stop a dementor from attacking you."

"But I need to drive them away," said Harry. "Keeping a dementor five feet away from me is just a great way to get exhausted."

"It also buys you enough time to land your broom if you are attacked during a quidditch match." Professor Lupin reached into his briefcase and removed two bottles of butterbeer. "Here, I brought you a little something to help cheer you up."

"What's this?" Harry recognized the drink as butterbeer, but pretended otherwise. Accidentally revealing to a professor that he had been sneaking to Hogsmeade would be something only a Gryffindor would do.

"Butterbeer," said Lupin. "You can get it at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, once you have permission to go. I brought some back for you after holidays." Lupin handed Harry a bottle, and then raised his own. "To a Slytherin victory over Ravenclaw. Words I thought I would never say…"

Harry sipped at his butterbeer quietly for several moments. "Professor, did you know my parents?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Yes, Harry, I did. What makes you ask?"

"You seem about the right age, and you were surprised when I mentioned my dad's name earlier tonight… and your toast made it sound like you were in Gryffindor."

"You're quite perceptive, Harry," Lupin said. "Although, I guess I should expect that, taking your house into account." Lupin's voice was gentle, but Harry could hear the unspoken words: _Since you're a Slytherin._ "Yes, I knew your parents. I was closer to your father than your mother, but I knew them both." Lupin paused, considering his next words. "Harry, has anyone ever told you that you look like your father?"

Harry nodded. "But with my mother's eyes."

"It's true," Lupin said. "You could never forget Lily's eyes." There was a long silence after Lupin's words. Harry was the next to speak.

"Then… you must have known Sirius Black, too."

"We thought we knew him, Harry. We were wrong." After a beat, Professor Lupin stood. "Why don't we leave things here, for the night. You have a quidditch match this weekend, so we'll resume next week."

"No, I don't," said Harry. "Flint cut me from the team until I can learn the Patronus charm. He says he can't afford to lose a game."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Harry. You are like your father in many ways, and your dedication to quidditch is one of them. We'll have you casting this charm before you know it, and you'll be back on your broom where you belong."

"Thanks, Professor."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _Lots of people wondering where Harry gets his quidditch ability from, and that's totally legitimate. My thoughts on the subject… (1) In canon, James Potter was a chaser, not a seeker. Rowling has strongly suggested that Harry's quidditch ability is hereditary, so Harry should be a pretty good chaser. He never got the chance for Gryffindor, because he was immediately made seeker. Now he's getting a chance. (2) Harry is younger than Flint, Pucey, and everybody else on the team except for Draco. Harry also had a rough (and sometimes malnourished) childhood. And if we take Daniel Radcliffe's height as approximating Harry's, then Harry is a short guy. All this adds up to lower strength for shots and passes than his fellow teammates. But lower strength does not mean less effective on the field… and that's Flint's shortsighted error. (3) What Harry does have copious amounts of is an intuitive understanding of how quidditch is played. The ability to throw hard is completely separate from the ability to understand where you need to be on the field in a given situation. Since Flint has always run tryouts as a "drills only" operation, he hasn't seen Harry's skill as a chaser in a game situation. _

_Sports history is full of players who aren't the biggest, fastest, or strongest, but are somehow exceptionally good at their sport. Many times, that player's success can be attributed to that player's ability to understand the game and anticipate the course of play. A good player might be thinking one or two moves ahead for himself, but a great player is four moves ahead for every player on the field. That's what Harry has._

* * *

The match against Ravenclaw was an odd experience for Harry. Harry, like most of the school, attended all quidditch matches, even those that didn't involve his own house. But this was the first time in almost two years that Slytherin would play a match in which Harry was not flying. Cheering for his team but having no way to affect the game felt foreign.

Harry was crammed into the bleachers next to Tracey Davis. Pansy was two rows forward, cheering wildly for Draco. Harry was finding it difficult to muster any enthusiasm. As the teams took the pitch, the Slytherin section began its organized cheering. Harry halfheartedly yelled along, just loud enough that nobody would notice his apathy. Intellectually, Harry knew that he should be cheering for his best friend, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he should be the one playing seeker. Seeker was _his_ position, not Draco's. Seeker was what Harry did. All those cheers for Draco should have been cheers for Harry.

Despite Harry's misgivings, Draco was a competent seeker. Ravenclaw's seeker was a pretty girl named Cho Chang. Chang generally flew a blocking style similar to that of Katie Bell, the Gryffindor seeker. Both Bell and Chang used their maneuverability to repeatedly move into the flight path of the opposing seeker, preventing their opponent from flying directly at the snitch.

Almost immediately after the game started, he rocketed across the field.

"It looks like Malfoy has seen the snitch already!" said the voice of Lee Jordan over the loudspeaker.

Chang floated upward and into Draco's flight path, but Draco barely seemed to care. Draco slowed his broom, but only slightly. Draco crashed into Chang, and both seekers were sent tumbling through the air by the impact.

Madam Hooch's whistle blew. "Foul against Slytherin. Penalty shot to Ravenclaw!"

Draco flew to Madam Hooch and said a few quiet words. Harry could imagine the conversation easily: "If Chang flies in front of me, what am I supposed to do?"

The game resumed after Ravenclaw missed their penalty shot. Slytherin took the quaffle down the field and scored to go ahead ten to nil. After a minute or so of ongoing play, Draco again accelerated in a straight line across the field. Chang moved to intercept, and slowly moved into Draco's flight path. Again, Draco pulled up his broom, but not quickly enough. The two seekers slammed into each other, and Chang came away from the collision holding her elbow.

Madam Hooch stopped play with her whistle. "Foul against Slytherin. Penalty shot to Ravenclaw."

Draco flew over to Madam Hooch once more, again exchanging words. Draco's pleading must have worked, because Madam Hooch flew over to Cho Chang and said something quietly to the Ravenclaw seeker. From the look on Chang's face, the Ravenclaw was unhappy.

"What's going on?" asked Pansy.

"Madam Hooch warned Chang to give Draco more space. It's okay for Chang to get in Draco's way, but she has to give him enough time to stop or dodge. That's what Draco's been complaining about. Next time it happens, I bet the penalty will be on Ravenclaw."

Harry's prediction was correct. Draco timed his next trip across the pitch to coincide with some chaos caused by the Slytherin beaters, which had drawn most of Madam Hooch's attention. As Draco shot across the pitch, Chang moved into Draco's flight path. It was obvious that Draco had enough time to stop or dodge, but he did neither. Instead, Draco rammed Chang directly in her ribs. Draco's broom spun away from Chang, and the Slytherin seeker let out a cry of surprise.

Madam Hooch's head whipped around, and she saw the seekers both flying away from the collision. Her whistle sounded. "Foul on Ravenclaw. Penalty shot, Slytherin!"

The Slytherin section erupted in cheers, while the other three quarters of the stands began booing. On the penalty, Flint blasted a shot past the Ravenclaw keeper and extended the Slytherin lead. As Draco began circling the pitch, Chang kept a substantial distance away.

Harry leaned over to Tracey. "Chang's off her game. Draco's a better flier, so he'll beat her in a fair race to the snitch. Her only chance is to keep blocking him, but she's already hurt. If she keeps it up, she'll get hurt worse. And Madam Hooch will call that penalty against Chang for the rest of the game, regardless of whether she's actually at fault." Really, Draco's strategy was rather brilliant, and it proved to be remarkably effective. Chang had clearly prepared to play against Harry's style of seeking, and Draco was anything but. Harry knew that he should be pleased for his friend, but something felt wrong about it.

As the Slytherin chasers built a greater and greater lead, Draco cruised around the pitch, supremely confident. Finally, as Flint scored his seventh goal of the game, Draco spotted the snitch. Chang was on the opposite side of the pitch and had no chance. Draco seized the snitch and the game ended, Slytherin 280, Ravenclaw 60. Pansy was cheering so loudly that Harry could pick out her voice among all the others in the Slytherin section.

As usual, the victory party in the Slytherin common room was loud and late. For Harry, it was unlike any party he had ever attended. His first year, he had loved the parties. He had been so excited to belong, so caught up in the Slytherin-ness of things. At the time, he thought that his life couldn't get any better.

He was wrong; it could get better, and it had. Last year, Harry was actually ON the quidditch team. During Harry's first year, he celebrated at the parties; during Harry's second year, he was being celebrated at the parties. The distinction sounded small, but for Harry, who for his entire childhood had never been complimented, never been supported, the difference it was enormous.

This party was different. Harry was happier than he would have been if Slytherin lost, but he wasn't objectively happy by any measure. Good for Draco that he caught the snitch. Good for Slytherin that they won the game. But was anything good for Harry? Not hardly.

Harry aimlessly drifted around the party. He said a few words to Theo Nott and Tracey Davis, who were engaged in an animated discussion about the advantages and disadvantages of casting spells with your non-dominant hand. Nott was arguing that you need to be able to cast with both hands in case of emergency or disability, but Davis argued that it was better to perfect spells with your dominant hand instead of casting below-average spells with both hands.

"What do you think, Harry?" Tracey asked.  
"I think it's a mix," Harry said. "It's about diminishing returns. You start out with your good hand, and you focus on that. At some point, however, you have to put in hours and hours of time to improve only a little bit. That's when you switch and start on your off hand."

"But why not just learn a new spell with your good hand?" Tracey said.

"Because sometimes you can't use your good hand," Nott replied. "What if it's tied up? Or broken? Or cut off?"

"If I learn my spells well enough with my good hand, then it won't get cut off, will it?"

Harry left them to their conversation. Tracey was having one of her "intense" moments, but Nott's opinion on the subject seemed to be just as strong. As Harry moved away, he looked for somebody else to talk to. Daphne Greengrass was nearby, but she was talking to her little sister, Astoria. Draco was soaking up the adulation of his fans somewhere, and Pansy was nowhere to be found. When Harry found himself looking for Crabbe and Goyle, he realized how deep his desperation had become.

Across the room, there was a burst of laughter. Flint, Pucey and Bletchley were chuckling pointing at Crabbe and Goyle, who were carrying Draco around the room on their shoulders. Nobody seemed to care that Harry was grounded, not even his teammates.

As Crabbe and Goyle moved across the room, Harry saw Pansy standing in the crowd. She had been so understanding when Harry was first grounded. If there was anyone Harry could talk to, it was her. Harry pushed through the crowd until he was standing next to Pansy. She and Harry watched as Draco, still clutching the snitch from the day's match, waved at a crowd of first-year students from atop Crabbe and Goyle's shoulders.

"Can you believe it?" asked Harry.

"I know," said Pansy.

"He could at least say something to me."

"I've been trying to get his attention for the last half hour," said Pansy. She sighed.

"And now he's parading around the room, ignoring his best friends."

"He looks great, doesn't he?"

Harry looked over at Pansy. "Are we having the same conversation?"

"Draco's always looked good in quidditch robes, but that catch he made today… he played such a good game." Pansy's eyes were large, and fixed on Draco. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

"Lots of people play good quidditch games," Harry said. Like Harry Potter, for example. Plenty of good quidditch games from Harry Potter.

"I'm going to go see if I can talk to him," Pansy said. She slowly began walking toward Draco.

"Okay, that's fine! Nobody needs to talk to Harry!"

Pansy ignored Harry. Or took his words literally. Either way, she continued across the room to Draco.

Harry couldn't take it any longer. He went back to his dormitory and retrieved his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map from his trunk. Harry strode back through the Slytherin common room. Nobody said a word to him as he walked outside and into the halls. It was after curfew, so the halls were empty.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Harry looked at the map—Filch was at the opposite end of the school, and the patrolling teachers were nowhere near Slytherin. Harry was free to go anywhere in—

Wait. That name shouldn't be there. Did he really just read what he thought he read?

Harry's eyes darted back to the library. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He walked quickly through the halls, carefully avoiding staff members, until he arrived at the doors of the library. He snuck through the doors and quietly closed them behind him. At the back of the library, a dim light shone. Harry tucked the map into his back pocket, and removed his invisibility cloak. He approached the light slowly.

"Breaking curfew, Granger?"

The bushy-haired Gryffindor sat up with a gasp. She was surrounded by books from what appeared to be a dozen different subjects. "Harry, you startled me!"

"I guess we're both full of surprises, tonight. I never thought I'd catch you breaking rules so flagrantly."

"I have committed the horrible infraction of sneaking out… to go to the library… to study." Hermione smiled. "If I get caught, I can probably talk my way out of it."

"That's courage," said Harry. "If it were me, I'd just make sure that I didn't get caught." Harry gestured to the books. "So this is how you're getting by with all these classes? When do you find time to sleep?"

"Oh, I make time." Hermione looked down at the table and rubbed her neck with her hand.

"Sure. One of these days you're going to collapse, Granger. Maybe you should make some more time for yourself, and a little less time for studying."

Hermione looked up. "And why are you here, Harry? Slytherin beat up Ravenclaw pretty badly today." Harry was impressed by Granger's careful choice of words—lightly accusatory without being outright nasty. Snape was right that she would have done well in Slytherin. "Isn't there a party you should be at?" Granger asked.

Harry's expression darkened. "I'm sure you noticed who caught the snitch today," Harry said. "Flint still has me grounded. Everybody is back in the common room, celebrating the team like they're minor deities. Draco's holding court and Pansy is fawning over him like she's never seen a snitch caught before."

"Sounds like a normal quidditch party," Hermione said. "That's what happened when we beat Hufflepuff last year."

"But those are my friends," Harry said. "I just can't believe they'd ignore me so easily. It's so… thoughtless."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "Harry, your best friends are Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson."

"So?"

"So? Pansy is notoriously the cattiest girl in our entire year. Maybe the whole school."

"Pansy's always been fine to me."

"Because you're a boy, Harry. With girls, she can be awful. And you and I both know how much Draco cares about people's feelings. When was the last time he called me anything but 'that mudblood?' Half the time he does it, you're standing right next to him."

"That's just the way he was brought up…"

Hermione sat back, her mouth open in shock. "You're making excuses for him? Harry, that's… I can't believe you."

"It's not an excuse, it's a reason. And I've never called you that," Harry said. "Don't look at me like I've done something wrong."

"You haven't done anything wrong, Harry, but you haven't done anything right, either. You stand right next to him while he says those awful things, and you never say a word. Now you're surprised that he's hurt your feelings? You're surprised that he doesn't really care? What did you expect?"

"I expected a civil conversation with you," Harry said, standing up from the table. "Apparently, I was wrong."

As Harry walked past Hermione, her hand shot out and grabbed him on the wrist. Harry tried to pull away, but Hermione held on, her hand clamped like a vice.

"Harry, wait."

"Let go."

"Just listen. Harry, acquaintances are people who only say nice things to you. Friends, though, your real friends, will tell you the truth, even when it hurts." There was a hitch as Hermione spoke. "Maybe things are different in Slytherin… or maybe I just misunderstood our friendship."

"Maybe you did." Harry's voice was flat.

"Sorry." Hermione let go of Harry's wrist and looked down at the table. She was blinking quickly, trying to hold back tears.

Harry walked away. He was halfway across the library before he stopped. He stood there for several seconds, rooted to the spot, staring into the darkness.

"Damn." Harry slammed a fist into his leg and turned around.

Harry walked back to Hermione's table. The Gryffindor girl was staring at the open book in front of her, but she wasn't reading. There was a wet dot the size of a fingernail on one of the pages. Harry dropped down into the seat next to her and let out a loud sigh.

"You're right."

"What?" Hermione's voice was thick.

"You're right that we're friends. For the same reason I like Draco, I guess; you both treat me like a normal person." Since Granger was muggle-born, she hadn't gotten caught up in Harry Potter Fever the way the wizarding world had. "And you're right that things are different in Slytherin. I should have expected this from Draco and Pansy—it's the cost of being friends with them, I guess."

Hermione wiped her face, clearing away the tears. "And…?" Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at Harry expectantly.

"And I'm going to speak up the next time Draco calls you a…" Harry paused. "The next time Draco uses _that_ word."

A bright smile broke out on Hermione's face. "Thank you, Harry. I know that took a lot of c-"

"If you say courage, I will throw your books across the room." Harry smiled to soften his words. "Every one of them."

"Er, I wasn't going to say courage."

"What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say c… c…" Hermione's eyes flicked left and right, as if she were literally searching for another word. "c…rrrap, I can't think of anything."

Harry laughed. "Character," he said. "It took a lot of character."

Hermione snapped her fingers. "Good one. Where's Fred Weasley when you need him, right?"

Harry settled into his seat. Spending the evening with Hermione would mean that Harry would miss the greater part of the quidditch party, and that was okay with him.

Several hours later, Harry felt his eyes drooping. It was getting late, or early, but Hermione still had several subjects' worth of homework to go. Harry was considering using her Muggle Studies books as a pillow when there was a loud commotion in the hallway. Harry could hear several sets of feet running up and down the halls. The doors of the library burst open, and Severus Snape strode in, wand extended.

"Potter! There you are!"

"Professor Snape?"

"Have you seen anybody come into the library?"

"What's going on?"

"Have you seen anybody?" Snape was almost yelling. "Heard anything? Anything unusual?"

"No, sir."

"_Homenum Revelio_." Three small dots of light appeared in front of Snape, two green and silver, one red and gold. Snape nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Stay where you are," he said, then turned to the door and closed it behind him. "_Colloportus_." There was a click as the door locked.

Snape waved his wand and a silvery form appeared in front of him. "Potter is safe in the library." Before Harry could see exactly what the silver shape was, it had passed through the library doors like a ghost.

Snape turned to Harry and Hermione. A series of emotions flicked across his face—relief, anger, frustration. Ultimately, he settled on annoyance. "What possessed you to sneak out of your dormitory, Potter?"

"I… er… I wasn't enjoying the party, sir."

"And you, Granger. Gryffindor or not, I expect better from you."

"I'm just trying to finish my homework, Professor." Hermione's voice was quiet.

"Professor, what's going on?" Harry's curiosity was aroused. Snape was unusually agitated. Something must have happened.

"Sirius Black was just seen inside Gryffindor Tower with a knife."

Hermione gasped. "Is anybody hurt?"

"Your friend Mr. Weasley discovered Black standing over his bed, but nobody was harmed. The Gryffindor portrait confirmed Black's presence." Snape glanced at Harry. "When we discovered that you were not in the Slytherin dungeons, Mr. Potter, some of us felt that you might have gone after Sirius Black yourself."

Harry kept his face carefully still. Snape was right—if Harry had known that Sirius Black was in the castle, he would have thrown on his invisibility cloak and gone after the convict in an instant.

"I've been here with Hermione all night," Harry said. Granger nodded, confirming his words. "I didn't know Sirius Black was about."

"_It doesn't matter, Potter!_ This is the second time Black has entered Hogwarts undetected. You must always assume that you are in danger." Snape folded his arms. "Professor Dumbledore allows a certain level of rule breaking and mischief from students, but your sneaking out after curfew will no longer be tolerated. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir." Harry lowered his head. "Do you think Sirius Black will be caught?"

Snape shook his head. "The remaining professors are searching the school, but I do not believe Black will be found. He is far too… elusive."

Harry and Hermione remained in the library with Snape until dawn. At first, they were unable to sleep, overwhelmed with excitement and nervousness. During the early morning, though, both Hermione and Harry succumbed to slumber. When they awoke, Professor Snape was speaking with Professor McGonagall. Sirius Black had escaped again.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry's focus on casting a successful patronus charm became almost manic. His shame from the quidditch party drove him to practice constantly. In his room, during his free periods… if Harry wasn't doing homework or at quidditch practice, he could be found somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts, muttering "_Expecto Patronum_" under his breath. Ironically, however, the emotions that were drove him to practice the charm also prevented him from casting it successfully. No matter how much he practiced, he was unable to produce more than a mist.

After one particularly frustrating lesson with Lupin, once he had returned to the Slytherin dormitory, Harry couldn't contain his anger. He wound up storming around his bed, venting frustrations to Draco. "It's just a stupid charm," Harry said. "My best class is charms! There aren't any special wand movements or anything. I just have to 'think of something happy!'" Harry kicked at the foot of his bed. "Hooray! I can't play quidditch and all sorts of dark wizards want to murder me! Everything is wonderful."

"You need a break, Harry," said Draco.

"Yeah, a break from being Harry Potter."

"I was thinking we could do something a little more feasible." Draco smiled. "Why don't we take that book of curses down to the lake?"

It was daylight, still, for at least a few more hours. Harry grabbed the book of curses and followed Draco out of the dormitory. After a quick detour to one of Filch's supply closets, Draco and Harry stood at the edge of the lake, the curse book open between them. Several feet away stood a pair of makeshift targets; Draco had tied a two practice quaffles to a couple of old mops.

"Okay, so this one is a cutting curse," Draco said. "_Diffindo!_" Draco slashed his wand. Nothing happened to the targets, but a line appeared in the sand ten feet past them. "Hmm. Must be something with the wind…" Draco muttered.

Harry repeated Draco's words and motion. When Harry slashed his wand, a notch appeared on one of the shovels.

"Nice!" Draco said.

"I was aiming for the other one," said Harry.

The boys worked their way through the book of curses, skipping some the curses that were too complex ("flesh-stripping sandstorm curse") or too gruesome ("eye boiling curse") or useless against their makeshift targets ("foot swelling curse").

"Ooh, this one looks good," said Harry, pointing to a page in the book. Harry read the directions and then faced his targets. Harry raised his wand above his head, point up.

"_Incendio_." A small ball of fire appeared at the tip of Harry's wand. Harry swung his wand in a great circle around his head. As he did so, the ball of fire grew in size. As Harry finished the circle, he snapped his wand down and pointed it at his target.

"_Incendio!_"

A flame the size of a basketball shot away from Harry's wand and struck one of the quaffles. The shovel and quaffle immediately burst into flames. Both Harry and Draco raised their arms, shielding their faces from the explosion of light and heat.

"Awesome," said Draco as he lowered his hand.

"No kidding," said Harry. "Too bad that doesn't work on Dementors." Harry glanced around. The sun was beginning to set and he didn't want to be caught in the dark, especially after Snape's lecture in the library. "Let's put this out and go back to the castle."

Harry's confidence in his spellcasting was bolstered by his afternoon with Draco. When Harry entered Lupin's office for his next lesson, he was absolutely certain that he would produce a solid patronus.

Twenty minutes later, as Harry sat on the floor of Lupin's office covered in a cold sweat, he was more disappointed than ever before. Apparently, the ability to throw fireballs did not correspond to the ability to create a Patronus stronger than a weak mist.

"Here, Harry. Have some chocolate." As always, Lupin was immediately at hand to help Harry recover. Harry smiled weakly at his professor and accepted the chocolate without a word.

Harry was finding it difficult to remain aloof from Professor Lupin. Yes, Lupin was a werewolf, and yes, there was obvious tension between Lupin and Snape… but Lupin's defense lessons were the best Harry had ever had. Knowing that his father had been friends with Lupin was confusing, as well. Harry felt closer to Lupin than any teacher other than Professor Snape, and possibly Dumbledore.

Lupin sat back at the edge of his desk and clasped his hands in front of him. "Harry, this is a personal question, but I think your answer may shed some light on the difficulty you are having with this charm. Your technique is almost perfect, and your incantation is precise, which makes me wonder… what happy memory are you using to power your Patronus?"

"The day I found out I was a wizard," Harry said. "Mostly my first trip to Diagon Alley with Hagrid. It was the first time I had really seen magic, or been around wizards, and he bought Hedwig for me for my birthday, and I met Draco that day and he's my best mate, so…"

Lupin nodded. "Harry, I think your memory might not be strong enough. That certainly seems like a great day, but it was great because of a lot of little moments. Thinking of a series of small happy moments will cause your Patronus to manifest itself as a fine mist. To create a true, corporeal Patronus, you must concentrate on a single memory, a single moment of happiness that fills your heart so greatly that you can withstand any sadness."

"Where am I supposed to get one of those?" Harry asked.

"Each person has his or her own moment," Lupin said, "Just as each person has his or her own Patronus."

"What is your moment, Professor?"

"That's rather personal, Harry…" Lupin paused. "But, you did share your moment with me." Professor Lupin's voice grew soft, and he looked off into the distance. "I had a… difficult childhood. I was only able to attend Hogwarts because Headmaster Dumbledore intervened on my behalf. On the day I graduated, many things happened that I had never thought possible: I received my diploma; I formally entered wizarding society; I was surrounded by friends who were as near to me as brothers; and my parents were able to be proud of me. When I accepted my diploma, and I turned and saw my friends and parents, everybody smiling… that's my moment, Harry.

"Take a few minutes. Try to think of a single, strong memory. Focus on one moment. Let me know when you are ready to begin again."

Harry turned thoughts over and over in his head. When was he happiest? He had beaten Gryffindor in quidditch last year, but his arm was broken almost immediately, so he hadn't had an opportunity to enjoy it. Frankly, any quidditch memory was sullied by his current grounding—none of those would do. He might as well use his memories of time with the Dursleys, for all the good it would do him.

Harry smiled suddenly. "Professor, I have one I'd like to try."

"Good." Lupin walked to the wardrobe and opened the door, releasing the dementor/boggart. Harry focused on his new memory: his Uncle Vernon, frozen and hanging upside down from the chandelier in the front hallway.

"_Expecto patronum!_" A blob of white light flowed out of Harry's wand, hovering between Harry and the black-cloaked boggart. It was almost like a shield. The boggart was forced backward slightly, and, more importantly, Harry could feel the cold despair of the dementor's aura begin to lift.

"Excellent, Harry!" Lupin cast a quick _riddikulus_ and closed the boggart back in the closet. "That's significantly better. Between now and next week, make a list of several specific memories. We'll try them out to see what works best for you."

"Professor," said Harry, "How close am I to being cleared to fly?"

"If next week's charms are all that strong, Harry, I'll sign your clearance form that night."

When Harry arrived back in the Slytherin common room, he could barely contain his excitement. He immediately pulled out a parchment and started listing his greatest accomplishments, the moments that should make him the happiest:

_Defeated_

Harry paused. He almost wrote "Voldemort" before remembering that, officially, he had defeated Professor Quirrell during his first year.

_Defeated Quirrell_

_Caught snitch against Gryffindor_

Neither of those would make good memories. He had been knocked unconscious immediately after each achievement. Actually, if Harry counted the two times that Dementors had attacked this year, Harry had been knocked unconscious four times in thirty-ish months. This was a rather alarming history of head injuries… especially when combined with the world-famous scar on his forehead.

Harry wiped a hand over his face. He had to focus. Happy thoughts.

_Defeated Quirrell – Unconscious_

_Caught snitch against Gryffindor – Unconscious_

_Firebolt found to be curse free – Too angry about quidditch_

_Made quidditch team – Too angry_

_Diagon Alley – Not specific_

_Vernon on chandelier – Maybe?_

_First Christmas at Hogwarts_

There was an interesting thought. Harry had told Ron last year about how happy his memories were of his first Christmas at Hogwarts. Harry had received his father's invisibility cloak, his first real Christmas presents ever from the Malfoys, and Harry and Ron had gone exploring all over the castle during holidays. But that was probably too spread out. It seemed like it would have the same problem as Diagon Alley.

Harry stared at the list. There was something he was forgetting. Something obvious. What was it?

_Ginny Weasley._

Of course. Harry had defeated Voldemort, but Ginny's body was lifeless in his arms. He was certain that he was too late, but Fawkes' tears brought her back from the brink of death. Harry had gone from the deepest despair to the height of happiness in a matter of seconds.

That was it. That was his memory. Ginny Weasley would fuel his Patronus.

* * *

**A/N: **_Short chapter this week. I meant to post this on Monday, and then post Chapter 15 today. Whoops. Instead, I'll post this today, and Chapter 15 Monday. Next Friday will be Chapter 16, and we'll be back on our regular schedule._

_In other news, I want to thank some of my regular reviewers. Shout outs to Son of Whitebeard, Kairan, Gwenlynn, , and Diddleymaz. The frequent reviews that you give, even if they are only a few words of encouragement, really keep my spirits up. Thanks, guys._


	15. Chapter 15

The next weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend. The halls were empty as Harry went to see Professor Lupin. Harry brought along his school bag, and tucked inside was Harry's invisibility cloak. After Harry's lesson, he planned on sneaking to Hogsmeade to celebrate his return to the air with Draco and Pansy.

Harry was watching the Marauder's Map as he walked through the halls. There was a small dot labeled "Harry Potter," and he was approaching another dot labeled "Remus Lupin." Harry never got tired of the work of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. The Map was an extraordinary piece of spellmanship. On a normal day, Harry wouldn't flagrantly carry the activated Marauder's Map through the halls, but on a Hogsmeade weekend, there was nobody to catch him. If any professors were approaching, Harry would see them, and hiding the Map would be a simple matter.

As Harry approached Lupin's office, he folded the map and tucked it into his bag. He removed his wand from his robes as he knocked on the door.

"Come in, Harry."

Harry entered the office and smiled at Lupin. Werewolf or not, Harry had decided that he liked Lupin quite a bit.

"I'm ready, Professor."

"So eager to start?" Lupin smiled. "You must have discovered a powerful memory."

Harry nodded. "I think so."

"Well, let's get to it!" Lupin opened the wardrobe containing the boggart, and the creature floated toward Harry, dirty black robes perfectly mimicking a dementor.

Harry focused his mind on Ginny Weasley. He concentrated on her fiery red hair, the look of her eyes as she opened them, the feel of her heart beating…

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

A bright silver light burst forth from Harry's wand. The silver light formed a wall between Harry and the boggart. Harry smiled—there was no sound of screaming, no dying words from his parents, no taunting voice of Voldemort. The boggart shied away, raising its cloth-covered arms defensively. Harry advanced on the boggart, forcing the creature back into the wardrobe, and Lupin slammed the wardrobe door.

"Well done, Harry!" Lupin took a bite of the chocolate in his hand. "It doesn't look like you'll need this today, so I'll help myself, if you don't mind."

"So, I can fly again?"

"Absolutely. That was a well-performed charm, Harry. There isn't a dementor I've ever seen that could pass through that Patronus."

Harry dashed to his school bag and pulled out a handful of parchment. "Could you write me a note saying that I can repel dementors and that I don't need to worry about them in a quidditch match?" Harry shoved the pieces of parchment at Lupin.

Lupin laughed. "Harry, you are remarkably similar to your father. There are times when I would forget, if it weren't for the color of your robes." Lupin scrawled out a note, clearing Harry to fly. Harry snatched it off Lupin's desk—he could hardly believe that it was in his hands.

"Harry? What is this?" Lupin's voice was quiet.

Harry looked back at Lupin's desk. Several other pieces of parchment from Harry's bag lay on the desk, and atop them all lay the Marauder's Map. The dots marked "Harry Potter" and "Remus Lupin" were very close together.

"Oh, er, that's nothing," said Harry. He casually reached out and picked up the Map with the same hand that had his wand. "It's just a little mischief managed," Harry said. As he spoke, he discretely tapped the Map with his wand and blanked the parchment. "I drew a map of the castle and figured I'd put us on it, since we're here so much."

"May I see it again?" asked Lupin, holding out his hand. There was a queer look on his face.

"I'd rather not," said Harry. "My artwork is embarrassing." Sweat had broken out on Harry's brow. He couldn't lose the Map—he had just gotten it. He hadn't memorized even half of the secret passages and their passwords, yet.

"I insist," said Lupin, not to be deterred. "The map, please?"

Reluctantly, Harry handed over the blank Map. Lupin placed the parchment on the desk and carefully spread it open.

"The map has disappeared, Harry. Are you sure this is merely a doodle?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Maybe Draco played a prank on me and gave me disappearing ink from Zonkos."

"Why don't we check?" Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the Map. "Show yourself." Nothing happened. Lupin tapped the Map again. "Reveal your secret." Again, nothing. Finally, smiling slightly, Lupin tapped the map and said, "Professor Remus Lupin commands you to yield the information you contain."

Writing began to appear on the Map, as if it were being scrawled by an invisible hand.

_Mr. Padfoot presents his complements to Professor Lupin, and begs him to keep his snout out of other people's business._

_Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Padfoot, and would like to add that Professor Lupin is a hairy git._

_Mr. Moony would like to register his astonishment that a person such as Mr. Lupin could ever become a Professor._

_Mr. Wormtail bids the professor good day, and advises him to check for fleas._

Harry was astonished at the Map's actions. He had seen the writing appear on the Map many times, but he had never seen such an insulting display. He was certain that he was about to receive a detention. But when Harry looked at Professor Lupin, there was no anger on his face. Lupin was still smiling, but there seemed to be sadness, as well.

"I guess the parchment is joke paper, too," said Harry.

"Is there anything more you would like to tell me about this map?"

Harry shook his head.

Lupin rested the tip of his wand on the map. "And what if... I solemnly swear I am up to no good?"

The Marauder's Map burst into being beneath Lupin's wand tip.

"How…?" Harry's jaw had dropped open in astonishment.

"I don't want to know how this map fell into your possession, Harry. However it managed to do so, it was astoundingly irresponsible for you to keep it. You should have turned this in immediately, especially after Mr. Longbottom's debacle last week."

Harry looked down at his shoes and nodded. Longbottom had left the Gryffindor passwords written on a piece of paper, which is how Sirius Black had gotten into Gryffindor Tower. But Harry would never be that careless. Then again, Harry hadn't thought that he would be careless enough to _hand the_ _activated Marauder's Map to a teacher_.

He was an embarrassment as a Slytherin.

"I'm confiscating this map, Harry. You understand why?"

Harry nodded.

"I won't assign you detention. Being unable to go sneak to Hogsmeade will be punishment enough." Lupin sighed. "Harry, I cannot force you to take Sirius Black seriously. But your parents gave their lives for you, and getting yourself killed for a bag of candy is a poor way to honor their sacrifice."

*!*!*!*!*

The loss of the Marauder's Map still weighed heavily on his heart, as did the lectures he had received from both Snape and Lupin, less than a week apart. Even though things seemed to be going well for Harry—he had a Firebolt, he was cleared for quidditch, he could finally cast a Patronus charm—Harry still felt as if something were wrong. At the next quidditch practice, when Harry presented Flint with Lupin's note, Harry didn't feel nearly as happy as he should have.

"Good," said Flint, reading the note. "Glad you got yourself together. Line up at chaser for drills."

"Flint, I can fly in the Hufflepuff match. That's what the note meant."

"I know. Line up at chaser."

"But- I'm the seeker!"

"Malfoy's seeker," Flint said. "He dismantled Chang in the last match. Malfoy's on a hot streak, and I'm not sitting him in favor of somebody who hasn't flown at seeker in almost three months."

Harry scowled at Flint, but joined the drills as a chaser. When Flint ordered starters to drill against reserves, Flint called Harry to fly with Pucey and himself, leaving Warrington and Montague to play defense. Harry was happy to know that he would be playing in the Hufflepuff game, but a part of him was still seething with anger.

On the day of the match against Hufflepuff, Harry was surprised to discover that he wasn't happy. Objectively, he felt better than he had for weeks. He certainly felt better than he had during the Ravenclaw match, when he was in stuck in the bleachers while the rest of the team was up in the air. But whenever Harry tried to focus on his role as a chaser, he got a bitter taste in his mouth. Yes, it was nice to be in the air again, and it was nice to hear Slytherin cheering for him… but even from the middle of the pitch, even with his back turned, Harry could pick out Pansy's voice, screaming Draco's name.

Madam Hooch called the players to the middle of the pitch. She threw the quaffle into the air, released the snitch, and the game was on.

Harry's Firebolt flew like a dream. Until the match started, Harry didn't realize how much of an advantage his Firebolt would give him against Hufflepuff. The rest of the Slytherin team flew on Nimbus 2001s, excellent brooms that were only a year old. In practices, Harry's Firebolt was clearly faster than the rest of the team, but not absurdly so. The Hufflepuff brooms, however, were a mishmash of models, none of them new. Even if they had been new, it wouldn't have mattered; none of them would have matched a Slytherin Nimbus, let alone Harry's Firebolt.

Harry's teammates were dominant. Harry was untouchable.

With Slytherin leading 40-nil, Harry found himself with the quaffle at mid-field. As Harry flew toward the keeper, he saw dark movement below him on the pitch: three cloaked figures had made their way onto the field. The dementors raised their arms at Harry.

Harry reached into his cloak and drew his wand. Firmly fixing an image of Ginny Weasley in his mind, he shouted, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

A blob of white light blasted out of Harry's wand, rolling toward the dementors. Harry's mind was crystal clear—he knew that he had successfully cast the charm, so he didn't pause in his flight. He continued toward the Hufflepuff keeper, firing a curving shot that looped around the keeper's hands and through the goal.

Madam Hooch's whistle blew, stopping play at 50-nil. Instead of restarting play, Madam Hooch landed next to the dementors, who were laying on the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. This was rather odd, as dementors were almost bodiless under their tattered black cloaks.

Madam Hooch began pulling at the dirty robes, revealing Fred, George and Ron Weasley. Harry could hear her voice, even over the roar of the crowd. "This is despicable! Sabotage? I expect better from Gryffindor. If you can't defeat Slytherin on the quidditch field, you don't deserve the Cup!"

"It was just a laugh," said George, smiling despite the scolding.

"Detentions all around!" roared Madam Hooch. "See me in my office immediately after the match!"

The Weasleys slunk back to the Gryffindor stands, all the while being jeered at by the Slytherin section.

The "dementor" attack was the only interesting thing that happened during the match. Draco easily beat Diggory to the snitch, and Slytherin won the match, 220 the 30. The only thing standing between Slytherin and the quidditch cup was the rematch with Gryffindor.

That evening, at the quidditch party, Pansy announced that her birthday celebration would coincide with the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match. "After Draco wins us the quidditch cup, we'll have a party so big that the whole school will be kept awake!"

"I'm getting a little sick of Pansy," Harry said to Tracey and Daphne. The three of them were sitting at a small table, far away from the main crush of the quidditch party. "The way she's fawning over Draco is just… unseemly."

"The way she's _fawning_ is unseemly?" Daphne asked. "Or the way she's fawning over _Draco_?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"You never seem upset when she's fawning over you."

"I do not allow myself to be fawned over," said Harry. "When have I ever?"

Daphne laughed. "When have you not? First year, it was just because you were Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Last year, it was because you made seeker, and then because you were the leading suspect for Heir of Slytherin. And Pansy was all over you this year, until Draco became seeker. She fawns over you, Harry. Admit it."

Harry crossed his arms. "Never."

"Don't worry," Tracey said, patting Harry's arm. "You did great today. You and Flint and Pucey looked like professionals out there. The game was won long before Draco caught the snitch."

"Maybe," Harry said, "But that's not the way the rest of the house remembers it." Harry waved his arm at Draco. The blonde boy was sitting on a couch across the room, and a throng of students were crowd around him. Pansy was curled up next to him, her hand resting lightly on the back of Draco's neck. She stared into his eyes, hanging on to his every word. Draco was recounting the maneuvers in the day's match, and how he had outwitted Diggory. As if the rest of Slytherin hadn't been there. As if they hadn't seen it with their own eyes.

"Listen to him," Harry said. "He sounds like such a prat. I never acted like that when I was seeker."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No. When people ask me about a match, I give them insight. I tell them things that they wouldn't have noticed. Little things that you can't see from the stands. Draco's making the match sound easy. I help people realize how difficult it really was. Draco's gloating. I _analyze_."

"Of course," said Daphne.

"I'm surprised that you're upset," said Tracey. "I thought you would have liked this. You know, not being the center of attention for once?"

"I don't mind attention. I just want it to be the right _kind_ of attention. Staring at my scar? Asking me to talk to snakes? Wrong kind. Quidditch is different." Harry shook his head.

"So when you're rightfully being praised for your quidditch brilliance," said Daphne, "the attention is okay?"

Harry was prepared to say something cross, until he saw the grin on Daphne's face. "Stop taking the mickey, Daphne."

"You make it so easy, though."

* * *

**A/N:** _So, I discovered that the way to get an avalanche of reviews is to hint at romance in any way. Yikes! Some strong opinions about Ginny Weasley out there!_


	16. Chapter 16

The Slytherin/Gryffindor rematch was scheduled to take place only one week after the Slytherin/Hufflepuff match. Dumbledore was adamant that the match be played before exams, so that students would have a reasonable amount of time to pretend to study.

Draco spent the majority of the week strutting around the Slytherin common room, announcing to anybody who would listen that he intended to embarrass Gryffindor on Saturday. The list of people who were willing to listen seemed to have no end. The only people who weren't caught up in Draco's spell were Harry and Tracey.

By Thursday night, Harry could stand no more. Harry grabbed Tracey by the arm and dragged her out of the common room. "We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" asked Tracey.

"Hagrid's," said Harry. Hagrid was the opposite of Draco.

Harry set a brisk pace as they walked toward Hagrid's hut. Tracey easily kept pace with Harry, quickly moving her shorter legs to keep up with his longer stride. "Are you upset about Draco again?" Tracey asked.

"Yes," said Harry. "I can't stand the way he's acting, constantly pandering."

"He's not doing it for you, Harry. He's doing it for everybody else. When it's just you and him in Potions, is he constantly reminding you that he's seeker?"

"Well, no."

"That's the difference. He's building up his social cache with everybody else in Slytherin. He doesn't need to do that with you, because the two of you are best friends." Tracey paused. "You could learn a thing or two from him."

"Come on." If there was one subject that Harry didn't want to talk about, it was ways in which Draco was better than him.

"No, I'm serious," Tracey said. "Draco has been seeker for two matches, but he's practically the king of Slytherin. Flint's been captain of the team for three years and he hasn't managed what Draco did in three months."

"Flint's worried about a professional contract," Harry said.

"So he can play quidditch until he's thirty-five, maybe forty. Then what?" Tracey shook her head. "Flint squandered an opportunity, but Draco isn't making the same mistake."

"So Draco's allowed to treat his best friend like crap, because he's building up his social status?" Harry was starting to get really angry. He hadn't thought Tracey would be like this.

"I'm not saying that it's right, I'm just telling you what he's doing." Tracey shrugged.

"Brilliant social advice from the girl who can't make friends beyond Daphne and me." As soon as Harry spoke, he regretted his words.

Tracey blushed and began pulling at her hair, nervous and suddenly self-conscious. "It's like when we watched Professor Snape check your broom for curses. I know what was going on, but I can't do it."

Harry and Tracey had arrived at Hagrid's. Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could say anything, the door opened and Hagrid stepped out. When he saw Harry, he smiled.

"Harry! I thought I heard someone talkin' out here. Come on in, I was jus' brewin' a spot o' tea." For some reason, Hagrid always seemed to be brewing tea when Harry arrived. "And yer friend here, Miss Davis, right?"

"Hello, Professor," Tracey said. Harry realized that Tracey and Hagrid didn't know each other outside the Care of Magical Creatures class.

"Hagrid, this is my good friend, Tracey Davis." Tracey smiled and immediately perked up when Harry said this. Harry didn't see why he wouldn't; it was true, even if they had just been arguing. "Tracey, this is Hagrid. He was the first person to tell me that I was a wizard, and he's been a friend ever since."

"I didn't know you two were so close," Tracey said.

"I've known Harry ever since 'e was a babe," Hagrid said as he bustled around the stove, pouring tea. "We jus' had a bit've a gap in the middle there."

"Hagrid's the best. Pretty much the first magic I ever saw was Hagrid's flying motorcycle," Harry said.

"Isn't that misuse of muggle artifacts?" Tracey asked. "You could get in trouble with the Ministry."

"It doesn' seem ter bother anybody. Then again, I don' let anybody see me ridin' it, either." Hagrid winked.

Harry hadn't known about that law. "Hagrid, you have to tell me these things! I could have slipped and told anybody!"

"Well, considerin' where I got it, I thought you wouldn' want ter know."

"What do you mean?"

Hagrid looked down. "Shouldn'ter said that…"

"Hagrid, tell me." Harry leaned forward. "It's okay. I want to know."

Hagrid sighed. "Only 'cause yer asked, Harry." Hagrid began setting the teacups on the table. Harry quickly took a sip. If this was one of Hagrid's questionable cups, he wanted to warn Tracey, but the tea was actually quite good.

"I've had that bike for thirteen years, Harry, an' the whole time I've bin wonderin' what I should do with it. Fer a while, I wanted to give it to yeh, when you were old enough."

"Give it to me? Why?" Harry's eyebrows went up. Thirteen years… "Hagrid, did that bike belong to my dad?"

"Not exactly. I borrowed the bike, but before I could return it, the owner was… well…" Hagrid looked down at his tea.

Harry gave Tracey a quizzical look. He didn't have any idea what was going on. Tracey shrugged; she was doing no better.

"I've bin keepin' careful watch on the key this year, yer know," Hagrid was saying. "It's locked in that box, over there." He nodded his head toward a metal box that sat on the bookcase next to his bed. "Wouldn' do ter have it stolen. I'd be helpin' the likes of him…"

"Who, Hagrid?"

"Sirius Black," Hagrid said.

"You…" Harry spoke slowly. "You got your bike. From Sirius Black."

"I'd jus' got yer outta the ruins of yer parents' house. The whole place was burned, there were holes in the ceiling, nobody knew what was goin' on… an' then Sirius Black shows up, flyin' that motorbike. I thought he'd jus' heard the news an' come ter check on yeh. I din' know he'd been yer parents Secret Keeper, Harry." Hagrid suddenly clenched his hand into a fist and pounded on the table, shaking the teacups in their saucers. "I comforted the murderin' traitor! I thought he was upset about yer parents, Harry, but he was upset abou' You-Know-Who!"

Harry sat back, stunned. This was the first he had heard about the night his parents had been killed. Everybody was quick to tell him what happened, but nobody ever took the time to tell him how.

"Yer know what he said ter me, Harry? He said, 'Give Harry ter me, Hagrid. I'm his godfather, I'll look after 'im.' But I told him no, I had me orders from Dumbledore ter take yeh ter yer aunt an' uncle's. He told me ter take his motorbike to get yeh there. Said he wouldn' need it anymore."

"Too easy to trace?" Harry asked. Hagrid nodded.

"How many flyin' motorbikes are there in England? An' Dumbledore knew that Black had bin yer parents Secret Keeper, so it wouldn' be long 'til the Ministry was lookin' fer it. But Peter Pettigrew managed the find Black anyway, that poor lad…" Hagrid took a slow drink of his tea. "I don' know what woulda happened if I'da given yeh ter him, Harry."

"And why, exactly, did you want to give me his motorcycle?" Harry was astounded at Hagrid's lack of sensitivity.

"I though' it'd be a good way to tell 'im to bugger off," Hagrid said. "The boy he tried to kill, ridin' his motorbike fer fun."

"I guess it would be, at that." There was a beautiful simplicity to Hagrid's logic, and Harry gave Hagrid a small grin. "But no matter how amazing I think it is, it's muggle transportation. I'm not sure what the rest of my house would think of it."  
"You should do it, Harry," Tracey said. "Everybody will think that it's cool."

"Even though it's muggle-made?"

"_Especially_ because it's muggle-made, Harry. Rebellion is cool."

"Really?" Harry had never thought about "cool" since he had gotten to Hogwarts. In his youth, Dudley had made sure to emphasize that "cool" was "the opposite of Harry." And at school, popularity came naturally; Harry hardly needed to _try _to be popular, when he was Draco Malfoy's best friend and The Boy Who Lived.

Tracey sighed. "Yes, Harry. Rebellion demonstrates independence, and independence is cool." Tracey's tone was part lecture, part exasperation. Harry seemed to get that tone from her quite a bit. It reminded him of the tone that Hermione used when speaking to Ron Weasley about homework and revising. "Riding a flying motorcycle is breaking the rules about misuse of muggle artifacts, so it's cool. Nobody will ever say a thing about it, because you're Harry Potter, but everybody will know that you're getting away with it, which is why it's cool." Tracey waved a hand in the air. "It'll do a lot for your image."

"I have an image?"

"Not really," Tracey said. "If you weren't good at quidditch, you'd be rather pathetic."

"Hey!"

"Don' talk abou' Harry that way," Hagrid said. "He's a good kid."

"I know," said Tracey. "I like Harry a lot! But he doesn't think about social things."

"I didn't know I needed to," said Harry.

"Exactly. But that's why you have me." Tracey smiled and winked at Harry. "Trust me. Take the bike."

Harry turned to Hagrid. "Okay, I'll take it, I guess." Harry was dubious, but he _did _like the bike. And Tracey was right—he didn't think about social things. Harry had just thought that Draco was being a jerk for the last few weeks, acting the way he was. But according to Tracey, there were layers of subtext hidden within Draco's every action. Who knew?

"It's yers, Harry, but not until yer old enough," said Hagrid. "Dumbledore'd kill me iffin he knew I were givin' that motorbike to a third year."

"Come on, Hagrid." Now that the idea was in Harry's head, he wanted the motorcycle rather badly. "Please? I'll keep it quiet."

"I had a button installed for that, but it isn't people hearin' yeh that I'm worried abou'." Hagrid said. Harry was puzzled for a moment, then realized that Hagrid had taken Harry's statement literally. "Maybe as a graduation present."

"That's forever!"

"Harry will be seventeen the summer before his seventh year," Tracey said. "Why not then?" Harry glared at Tracey—his seventeenth birthday was closer, but still almost four years away.

Hagrid tilted his head this way and that, considering Tracey's suggestion. "Fine. Yer seventeenth birthday, then."

"Where do you keep the motorcycle, anyway?" Tracey asked. "I haven't seen it around."

"Course not," Hagrid said. "That woudn' do. I keep it down'n the stables so that none of the kids get any crazy ideas."

"We have stables?" Harry asked.

"Sure we do," Hagrid said. "I keep some've the thestrals in there, when they're sick or abou' to have a foal."

Harry glanced at Tracey, but she shrugged. Neither of them had any idea what a thestral was.

"It's gettin' late," Hagrid said, glancing at his clock. "I'd better walk the two of yeh back ter the castle."

As Harry and Tracey walked through the halls of Hogwarts to the Slytherin common room, Harry couldn't stop thinking about what Tracey had said at Hagrid's.

"Tracey? Am I really as helpless as you said? Socially?"

"You certainly have room to improve. You did more with your position as seeker than Flint did with his captaincy, for example. And the Heir of Slytherin business certainly helped, as did that thing with Quirrell first year." Harry wasn't sure he was comfortable with the casual way that Tracey mentioned his battles with Voldemort. It was very… calculating. "So, no, you aren't helpless… but Draco makes you look like an amateur."

"If I have to act like that, I'm not sure I want to be a pro," Harry said.

"See, I always thought that about you, too. But then we had our conversation with Daphne last Saturday. You want to be acknowledged, Harry. Admit it."

"I do, but is it so much to ask that people don't stare at my forehead like I'm some sort of freak? That maybe, for once, they like me for who I am or what I do, instead of what curse I survived?"

"If you want people to like you for what you do, you have to draw their attention to it. Sitting back and being quiet won't get you noticed."

"So I'd do better if I acted like Lockhart last year?" Harry asked. Tracey nodded, and Harry shuddered. "That seems so… slimy. Like I'm manipulating people into liking me."

"Harry, you're a celebrity, whether you want to be one or not. In the absence of anything else, people are going to stare at your forehead. SO GIVE THEM SOMETHING ELSE." Tracey was waving her arms in frustration. "That's what Draco's doing! People notice him because he's a Malfoy, but once they've noticed, he shows them a quidditch star. There's no reason you can't do that, too."

Harry considered Tracey's words. Her logic seemed to be sound. He was never going to stop being Harry Potter, but he might be able to stop all this talk about The Boy Who Lived. He could become great on his own terms.

A shiver ran down Harry's back, the echoes of a distant memory. He tried to think of what it was… but it was gone.

"Okay," Harry said. "I'll try it. But I'll probably need help."

"I said it before, Harry. That's why you have me."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Tracey. But seriously this time, why don't you do it yourself, if you have it all figured out?"

"Two reasons," Tracey said. "First, people don't like me. They think I'm weird. I'm glad that we're friends, but it's true, so don't try to convince me otherwise." Harry hated to admit it, but Tracey was right. People did think she was strange.

"Second," Tracey said, "I'm ordinary. I might not be muggleborn, but I am only a halfblood. My family isn't rich or powerful. I don't have the name recognition of Malfoy or Parkinson or Greengrass. You, though…" Tracey smiled, and Harry could hear the excitement in her voice. "You've got more than all of them combined. You can be someone great, Harry."

Harry tried to hide his smile, but Tracey's enthusiasm was infectious. Someone great. Harry liked the sound of that.

"Okay, I'm going to be great," Harry said. "When do we start?"

"When's the next quidditch match?"


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **_I've been eagerly awaiting this chapter. Hope it lives up to all the hype (in my head)._

* * *

On the morning of the Gryffindor/Slytherin rematch, Harry arrived at the locker room early. He wanted to be dressed and warmed up long before the match started, so that he could observe the Gryffindor team warming up. It would be the first time Harry faced the Weasley twins as a chaser, and Harry was hoping to gain some better knowledge of their anti-chaser tactics based on their warmup.

When Harry arrived, he found Flint already in the locker room. Flint was almost manic in his preparedness for quidditch matches, so this wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the amount of shaking that Flint's hands were doing. Harry pretended not to notice. Flint left quickly for the pitch, and Harry followed a few moments later.

Harry took a seat on the bench at the side of the pitch and began his pre-game broom inspection. He checked to make sure that none of his twigs were unexpectedly broken, and that his handle was well-polished. He laid his broom on the ground and called it to his hands several times, ensuring that it was responsive to his magical commands. The Firebolt was in top shape, ready for the match.

Harry jumped on his broom and took off. He flew across the pitch and picked up a practice quaffle. He began warming up, practicing his shooting and passing at roughly half speed. As he took more and more shots, he increased the speed of his broom and the strength of his throws, until he was playing almost as hard as he would in a game. After several sets of throws at top speed, Harry directed his broom back to the ground.

Across the pitch, the Gryffindor team was emerging from their locker room. Even the quidditch-obsessed Oliver Wood was surprised to see Harry on the pitch so early.

Harry landed near the Slytherin bench and took a seat, resting his broom across his legs. As he watched the Weasley Twins warm up, he took special note of their anti-chaser tactics. The pair seemed particularly adept at the Bagman Bash—one beater would strike a bludger at the other, and the second beater would then strike the bludger at a chaser. If a chaser was only listening for the crack of the bats, he would react to the first strike by pulling away… which would make him an easy target for the second beater.

It was a difficult maneuver, made famous by Ludo Bagman of the Wimbourne Wasps. The twins had not used it in previous matches; it seemed to be a recently developed skill, and one that would be particularly effective against a two-high, Slytherin's chosen offense. Because the offense kept two chasers high and one low, it encouraged lateral rather than vertical movement, which would be easier for the Weasleys to anticipate. Harry saw no reason that Slytherin would need to change tactics; the Slytherin chases were easily the best in the school, and not even the Weasley twins could stop them for long.

"Did you see the scout?"

Harry turned and saw Pucey standing behind him.

"No," said Harry. "Where is he?" Pucey pointed into the stands. A small man dressed in brown robes sitting in the highest row of seats. There was a pair of binoculars hanging from around his neck, and held a scroll of parchment in his hands.

"He's there for Flint," Pucey said.

"Is that why Flint is acting so weird?"

Pucey nodded. "I'd be nervous, too, if my whole life rested on my performance in one game." Pucey lifted his broom. "I'm going to warm up."

When the rest of the Slytherin team arrived, Harry joined them for warmups. The Slytherin stand was full before warmups ended, and they had already begun cheering and chanting. Harry searched the crowd for Tracey, and found her standing next to Daphne, each of them waving Slytherin pennants.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle twice, signaling that five minutes remained until play would begin. Harry and the other Slytherin players landed near their bench and Flint motioned for the team to come together in a huddle. The team grew silent, waiting for Flint to begin his pre-game speech. Flint took a long look at each of the players in turn. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a moment, he closed his mouth, turned away, and took to the air.

The Slytherin players looked at one another. It was odd—Flint always had something to say for the team, usually an attempt to get them to play better through fear or ridicule. Draco shrugged, and Harry shrugged back. There was nothing to do but start the match; the Slytherin team followed their captain into the air.

The voice of Lee Jordan boomed out of the loudspeaker. "Welcome to the highly anticipated conclusion of the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match! Because Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have traded positions for Slytherin, the captains have agreed that the score will be re-set to nil-nil and no fouls will carry over to today's match. All other standard rules would be in effect."

On the pitch, Madam Hooch released the snitch and threw the quaffle into the air.

"And we're underway!" Jordan narrated the action for the crowd's benefit. "Ron Weasley and Pucey come together, struggling for the quaffle. Pucey comes away with it and quickly passes to Potter. Potter moves toward the rings, and nobody can catch him on that Firebolt."

Harry glanced across the pitch, looking for Flint. Wood, Gryffindor's keeper, was incredibly skilled. It was difficult to beat Wood with a straight shot; the best way to score goals would be by changing the angle of attack. Harry would pass to Flint, and Flint would quickly take the shot from a different angle.

Across the pitch, Flint was being shadowed closely by Alicia Spinnet. He was unable to escape the Gryffindor chaser, and any pass by Harry would be intercepted. Pucey was still disengaging from Weasley at the center of the pitch. Harry was alone against Wood, and, as fast as his Firebolt was moving, he was quickly running out of time. Harry had to make a decision.

Harry pulled back and fired a shot at the far ring, twisting his wrist to add topspin. Wood easily snatched the ball out of the air. Wood passed the ball to Johnson, and the Gryffindor seekers went the other way.

"Those weak little tricks won't work against me, Potter," Wood said, grinning ferociously.

Harry ignored him and turned his broom back to the pitch. A well-struck bludger by Bole had caused Johnson to lose the quaffle, and Pucey had plucked it out of the air.

"Pucey catches the quaffle and passes to Potter. Potter quickly passes back to Pucey, Pucey looks to pass to Flint, but Flint is covered by Spinnet. Pucey passes to Potter-"

There was a crack, and a gasp went up from the crowd. Harry ignored the quaffle coming from Pucey and did a quick barrel roll on his broom. A bludger shot through the space just above Harry.

"-and Potter dodges a well-struck bludger from Fred Weasley." Pause. "Or George. Probably Fred. Spinnet now has the quaffle, and she is pulling away from Flint."

Harry looked over. Somehow, Spinnet was drawing away from Flint, even though Flint's Nimbus 2001 broom vastly outclassed anything ridden by the Gryffindor team. Harry was beginning to think that the scout's presence was getting at Flint more than Pucey had realized.

The quidditch match turned into a battle. Neither set of chasers could make much progress against the other team. Gryffindors chasers were struggling to get past Derrik and Bole, and the speed of Harry's Firebolt made it difficult for them to complete passes. But neither Harry nor Pucey were able to take effective shots against Wood—Flint was being smothered by Spinnet's defense, and Harry and Pucey couldn't consistently maneuver past the Weasley twins and the Bagman Bash. After thirty minutes of play, the score was Slytherin 30, Gryffindor 20.

Harry signaled Madam Hooch and called a time out. He was the first to land, followed immediately by Draco.

"Any sign of the snitch?" Harry asked. Draco shook his head.

Derrik, Bole, Pucey and Bletchley landed, naturally forming into a huddle around Harry. Flint was last to land, lethargically coming to a stop outside the huddle.

"Wait here," Harry said to his huddled teammates. He stepped aside and walked up to Flint.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered to Flint. "You're playing like trash!"

Flint's face twitched. "I know. It's just… the scout…" There was a rattling, chuffing sound. Harry looked down and saw that Flint's hands were trembling, brushing the twigs of his broom against the ground. Harry had never seen Flint act like this.

"Grab my cloak," Harry said softly, keeping his eyes to the ground. "Start yelling. Ask my why I'm flying in a two-high formation when I should be in a three-straight."

"What?"

"Tell me to stop showboating and play in the system. Then push me away. Be angry." Harry glanced up and met Flint's eyes briefly, then looked down again. "Do it loud, or the scout won't hear."

Flint grabbed the front of Harry's cloak in his fist and jerked the smaller boy forward. Flint began yelling, nose to nose with Harry. "What do you think you're doing, Potter! We're playing a three-straight, not a two-high!"

"But, I-" Harry protested, loudly but with a quaver in his voice.

"SHUT UP AND PLAY THE SYSTEM. Stop showboating, Potter!" Flint pushed Harry away roughly.

Pucey turned from the huddle. "Flint, I thought we were playing a two-high?"

Flint threw his arms in the air. "IT'S A THREE-STRAIGHT!"

Madam Hooch blew her whistle twice; there were thirty seconds left in the time out. The Slytherin team took to the air, but Harry spoke quietly, stopping Flint before the captain could take off.

"Flint, wait." Harry stood so that they were both facing away from the stands, and the crowd was unable to see their mouths moving. "You're giving me a pep talk," Harry said. "You're reminding me that I play for Slytherin, the best team in the school. You're reminding me that our team hasn't lost a match in years. You're reminding me that we win, not because we're lucky, but because we are better than the other team." As Harry spoke, he could see Flint's back straightening. "You're reminding me that the crowd doesn't matter, and it doesn't matter who is in the crowd, because the game is won or lost on the field. And you're reminding me how satisfying it is to look into the eyes of the other team and watch them realize that they are just _not_ as _good_ as _you_." As Harry finished, Flint looked at the Gryffindor team and sneered. "Now you're going to pat me between the shoulders and take off," Harry said.

Flint reached over and patted Harry between the shoulders. "Are you ready to win this game?" Flint asked.

Harry nodded. "Let's do this."

Lee Jordan's voice again boomed out into the stadium. "We could only hear some of what Flint was saying, but it appears that Potter was not playing the correct offense. We'll see if Flint's changes make a difference in the match. Slytherin gains control of the quaffle, and Potter passes to Pucey, who passes back to Potter."

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw a Weasley twin lining up a bludger. The twin's eyes weren't looking at Harry, though; he was preparing a Bagman Bash.

"Potter takes the quaffle straight at Wood…"

There was a crack of a bat, but Harry didn't change his course. He knew that it was the first half of the Bagman Bash, and the bludger wasn't aimed at him. Harry glanced to the right and saw Flint moving in, pulling ahead of Spinnet.

There was another crack of a bat. Harry jerked his broom upward, and the bludger sailed harmlessly below him. Harry was close to Wood, now, and the Gryffindor keeper had moved out to stop his shot. Using his left hand, Harry passed the quaffle to his right. Flint caught the quaffle and slammed it home for a score.

"Slytherin goal by Marcus Flint. Slytherin leads, 40-20. Whatever change of tactics Slytherin has made, it seems to have worked."

Jordan was correct; in a three-across offense, the Slytherin seekers were restricted in their lateral movement, but they had freedom to move vertically. Vertical movement dramatically reduced the effectiveness of the Bagman Bash. Meanwhile, Flint was playing like a man reborn, and Spinnet could no longer match his speed. Johnson tried covering Flint briefly, but she was even less effective. Slytherin scored quickly, several times, and the cheers from the Slytherin section of the stands grew louder and louder with each goal.

When Flint scored his fourth goal to extend the lead to 90-30, Wood called a time out to stop play. As the Gryffindor players huddled together on the pitch, Flint flew his broom to the Slytherin cheering section and began waving his arms like a conductor. The students happily burst into song.

Even from across the pitch, Harry could see the smile on the scout's face as he frantically scribbled notes.

When play resumed, the field seemed significantly less cluttered than before. As Harry carried the quaffle up the pitch, he realized why: the Weasley twins were no longer focusing on the Slytherin chasers. Wood had realized that the only chance for a Gryffindor victory was for Bell to catch the snitch before Draco, but to do that she would have to escape the tight physical play of the Slytherin seeker.

Harry passed the quaffle to Flint, then glanced around. The Weasley twins were herding the bludgers toward Draco and Bell, who were floating high above the rest of the pitch. Derrik and Bole were moving to defend.

Draco's head snapped to the right. He shot forward on his broom, Bell in close pursuit.

"Malfoy has seen the snitch!" announced Jordan.

The Weasley twins struck their bludgers at Draco in quick succession, but Draco juked and jived, dodging them easily. Draco and Bell were moving closer and closer to Harry. Harry finally picked out the snitch, which was lurking near a Gryffindor banner, camouflaged against the gold.

Harry looked back toward the seekers. Draco was pulling into the lead, but the Weasley twins had retrieved a bludger and were lining up a Bagman Bash. With a crack, one twin passed a bludger to the other.

Without looking, Draco jerked his broom away from the sound of the bat.

Harry suddenly realized that Draco hadn't researched the Weasley twins. The Gryffindor beaters usually targeted opposing chasers, not seekers, so his friend didn't expect a Bagman Bash. Draco was putting himself in perfect position to be struck by a bludger.

Harry opened his mouth to warn Draco, then paused. Draco _should_ have scouted the beaters; if he didn't, it was because of laziness or arrogance. If that caused Draco to get hit by a bludger… that was Draco's fault. And if Draco just happened to be knocked out of the game, well… there was another player who would be more than willing to take his place, and show this crowd how a _real_ seeker played the game…

Harry watched as the second Weasley twin reared back with his bat. As Weasley brought his bat forward, Harry shook his head violently, trying to clear his thoughts. What was he thinking?

*CRACK*

"Draco, look out!" Harry yelled, but he was too late.

Draco twisted his torso in response to Harry's warning, but his movement only made him more vulnerable. Instead of striking Draco's shoulder, the bludger crashed against Draco's face. An enormous gasp went up from the crowd as the blonde boy fell backwards, unconscious before his hands left his broom.

Madam Hooch swooped in. She waved her wand and caught Draco with a spell before he hit the ground. Once the immediate danger was ended, she blew her whistle to stop play. "Injury time out!"

A shout of anger went up from the Gryffindor stands. Bell had been rapidly approaching the snitch, but the injury time out had prevented her from ending the game. Madam Hooch ignored their protests, and carefully directed Draco toward Madam Pomfrey's medical tent at the side of the pitch.

Harry and the Slytherins landed next to their bench. They watched as Madam Pomfrey took custody of Draco's unconscious body. Madam Pomfrey immediately started toward the castle and the hospital wing, with Draco hovering before her. Despite his friend's plight, Harry was unable to keep his mind off the match. His thoughts were churning furiously—what were they going to do?

Flint snapped his fingers, getting the attention of the other Slytherin players. "Hey. Focus. We have a game to win."

"Playing six against seven?" asked Bole. "How do you plan on doing that?"

"Give me your bat," said Harry, suddenly inspired.

"What?" Bole clutched his beater's bat to his chest.

"Here's the plan," said Harry. The strategy was so clear in Harry's mind, it was as if he was reading it from parchment. "Bole, give me your bat. You're going to play chaser, and I'll be seeker. If the Weasleys keep after me, I can take care of myself, between my broom and your bat. In the meantime, you're going to cherry pick. Hover right in front of Wood's rings. They'll have to leave a chaser back to cover you—probably Weasley, since he plays the best defense. That leaves Flint and Pucey to play two-on-two against Johnson and Spinnet." Harry turned to his captain. "If you can't win that matchup, we don't deserve to win this game." Flint scowled, but Harry continued. "Derrik, you're going to shadow Pucey and Flint. You aren't going to attack with the bludger, just defend."

"That's no way to score goals," Pucey said.

"We aren't trying to score," Harry said. "We're trying to win. If you can keep things at a stalemate, I can beat Bell to the snitch." Harry looked at Flint. The plan would work… probably… but would Flint agree to it?

Flint gave Harry a long, hard look. The scowl on his face deepened. "Fine. We go with Potter's plan. Bole, give him your bat."

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the Slytherin team again took to the air.

"An interesting change," Lee Jordan said. "Bole appears to be lined up at chaser, which suggests that Potter has moved to seeker, but… with a beater's bat?" There was a murmur from the crowd. "An unusual tactic. Slytherin dominated play after Flint's last change, but I'm not sure about this choice."

Harry tried to ignore Jordan's commentary. He took his Firebolt up, far above the center of the pitch. Harry immediately began scanning for the snitch, looking for the telltale gleam of gold.

Katie Bell followed him quickly. When she reached Harry's height, she brought her broom to a stop and hovered next to him. "Fancy seeing you here," said Bell. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she, too, looked for the snitch.

"Funny thing," said Harry. "Last time we did this, I wound up in the hospital wing."

"This time… don't. I'd much rather play against you than Malfoy."

Below the two seekers, the match had slowed to a crawl. The matchup was playing out just as Harry had anticipated; Johnson and Spinnet were outmatched by Flint and Pucey, but Derrik could only do so much to defend the Slytherin seekers against the attacks of both Weasley twins. The teams had reached a stalemate.

"I'm a better seeker than Draco is," Harry said. "You'd have a better chance of beating him than me."

"I know," said Bell. "I didn't say I was more likely to win. I said I'd rather play against you." Harry didn't take his eyes of the pitch, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Bell smiling.

"My dashing good looks?" Harry said. Bell glanced over, surprised by Harry's words. At the same moment, Harry saw a glint of metal near the stands—the snitch had just snuck under the bleachers.

Harry turned to Bell and gave her his best smile. She blushed a little. "What are you doing next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway?" Harry asked.

Bell blushed even more deeply, and turned her face away from Harry to cover her embarrassment. As soon as Bell's eyes were averted, Harry raced forward on his broom, accelerating toward the bleachers and the snitch.

"It looks like Potter has seen the snitch!" announced Lee Jordan. "Bell was looking the other direction, and she is far behind Potter. There'll be no catching him this time!"

As Harry rocketed toward the bleachers, one of the Weasley twins knocked a bludger at him. Harry casually batted the bludger away with his bat, maintaining his focus on the snitch. When Harry reached the bleachers, he saw the snitch flying around and under the supporting beams, only twenty yards away. Harry began the chase, moving over and around the support beams in pursuit of the golden ball. The snitch moved along the bleachers, flying away from Harry, wings buzzing with rapid movement.

Harry started slowly, carefully picking his way through the beams. He realized almost immediately that he would never catch the snitch at a safe speed. Harry began to accelerate. As he moved faster, he let his eyes to go out of focus; rather than paying attention to one obstacle, he allowed himself to perceive the bleachers as a whole. A crash at this speed would be deadly, magical healing or not, but Harry easily moved through the gaps in the beams, getting closer and closer to the snitch.

There was a flash of crimson out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly Katie Bell was in his path.

Harry jerked his broom to the side. He narrowly missed Bell, but now was flying directly at a support beam. He jerked the broom again; another near miss. Harry was fighting for his life, each desperate maneuver putting another deadly obstacle in his path. He felt a tug as his robes caught on one of the beams, but his uniform ripped before it could throw Harry completely off balance. Finally, Harry caught a glimpse of sunlight, and he hauled his Firebolt toward the opening. Harry zipped through the gap back to onto the pitch.

Harry took a shaky breath. His hands were trembling from the adrenaline rush. He was out of danger, but had completely lost the snitch. Harry looked back; Bell was moving slowly under the bleachers, looking for the snitch among the supports.

"Potter has emerged without the snitch!" announced Jordan. The Gryffindor section burst into cheers, followed quickly by Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. "And Johnson scores again, making the score 90-60!" The Gryffindor section burst into song. All eyes were focused on the center of the pitch.

There was a blur of motion at the corner of Harry's vision, and a buzzing flutter. Harry's hand shot out, quick as lightning, grabbing at the air. Something struck the palm of his hand with a loud smack. Harry clenched his hand into a fist, holding tight against the struggling motion.

Harry slowly turned his head. In his hand was the golden snitch.

Jordan was still narrating the action at the center of the pitch. "Pucey has control of the quaffle, passing to Flint…"

Harry flew toward the center of the pitch, lowering his broom to the ground. When he reached center circle, he brought his broom to a stop and hopped off, standing in the grass with his hand raised.

"Potter is behaving rather strangely," Jordan said. "He has left his broom and has his hand in the air… with the snitch. Potter has the snitch. I don't know how he did it, but Potter has caught the snitch." Jordan's voice was dull, devoid of its usual energy. "Slytherin have won the quidditch cup."

There was a moment of absolute silence before the Slytherin section burst into raucous cheers. Harry held the snitch high, and the cheering grew louder. As the rest of the Slytherin quidditch team charged toward Harry on their brooms, Harry leapt onto his Firebolt and began to circle the pitch. The rest of the team fell into a row behind him, Flint and Pucey and Derrik and Bole and Bletchley. They flew around the pitch, cheering and shouting, and the Slytherin section took up a song.

When Harry completed his circuit of the pitch, he landed next to the Slytherin bench. The team mobbed him, screaming and yelling in celebration, slapping hands and clapping each other on the back. This was Harry's first quidditch cup victory, Slytherin's first in two years after the cancellation of last year's matches.

Several yards away, the Gryffindor team was walking toward their locker rooms, eyes cast down to the ground. Pucey began shouting at them and pointing. Pucey's words were lost in the noise of the stadium, but his tone was clear. Pucey took his broom and began brushing it in the direction of the Gryffindors, as if he were sweeping them out of the stadium. Bletchley joined him, and then Harry and Flint and Derrik and Bole were sweeping as well, laughing as the Gryffindors slunk away.

The Slytherin section was still cheering and chanting when Flint turned to Harry. Flint's face looked strange, and it took Harry a moment to realize why—it was the first time he had ever seen Flint smile.

Then there was no time to think. The Slytherin crowd had poured over the railings of the bleachers and was charging into the stadium. Harry was hoisted into the air the shoulders of his classmates. Harry clutched the snitch desperately, holding the small golden ball aloft, laughing and yelling with delight.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **_Chapter 19 is s__hort, so I'll post it on Tuesday. Chapter 20 will appear next Friday, on normal schedule._

* * *

In his three years at Hogwarts, Harry had attended numerous celebrations in the Slytherin common room: Halloween parties, quidditch victory parties, birthday parties… and the party after winning the quidditch cup left them all behind. Pansy's resources, combined with the euphoria of defeating Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, meant that the party was louder and larger than any party that any student could remember.

Music was pounding in the background, and Pucey was dancing atop a table in the center of the room. Flint and Bletchley were sitting on a couch, making eyes at a pair of attractive seventh-year girls. Or maybe the girls were making eyes at Flint and Bletchley; Harry wasn't sure, but there seemed to be a lot eye-making.

Harry had gathered a group of younger Slytherins and was telling them about how he had distracted Katie Bell at the end of the match by inviting her to Hogsmeade. Harry didn't notice when Pansy walked up behind him.

"Harry Potter. Please tell me that you are joking."

Harry turned and smiled broadly at Pansy. "And what if I'm not? Are you mad that I invited a Gryffindor to Hogsmeade, or mad that I didn't invite you?"

"Don't tease, Harry. It's my _birthday_!" Pansy giggled and grabbed Harry's arm. "You're only supposed to say nice things to me."

"Which one is it? I'm only supposed to say _nice_ things to you? Or I'm only supposed to say nice things to _you_?"

"Yes." Pansy nodded and sat down next to Harry, slipping her arm through his. She leaned her head on Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, what happened when you went under the bleachers?" asked a first year girl with brown hair. Harry turned back to the small crowd he had been talking to. They were still waiting expectantly. The first year girl was named Sarah Something-Or-Other… Harry couldn't quire remember. It was probably alliterative, though.

Before Harry could speak, a hand dropped onto his other shoulder. Harry turned and saw that Theo Nott was standing behind him, with Blaise Zabini. "Buzz off, firsties. Harry needs to do some real celebrating."

Sarah and the rest of the first years scattered immediately.

"Why do you have to be such an arse, Theo?" asked Pansy, looking up from Harry's shoulder.

"Our man is a hero! He doesn't need to be wasting time with those twerps." Theo nodded his head toward a crowd of older students, which included Montague and Warrington. "Come on, Harry. Those two are mangling the account of your catch. You have to go set the record straight."

Harry glanced at Pansy. She looked up at him from his shoulder.

"Just when I thought I had you all to myself," Pansy said. She gave Harry a tiny smile.  
"Come on, Harry. Let's go show you to the rest of the house."

Harry allowed Theo and Blaise to lead him toward a group of older students. Pansy walked close by Harry's side. Despite the noise and sound of the party, Harry found his attention focused almost entirely on his arm and hand, which kept bumping against Pansy's as they walked. It couldn't be an accident; Harry had walked next to Pansy plenty of times, and she was never clumsy. The hair rose on the back of Harry's neck. With each little bump, Harry felt… something less than a jolt, but more than a tingle… whatever it was, it felt pretty nice.

Unless he was misinterpreting things. Harry felt a sudden surge of self-doubt. If Harry tried to hold Pansy's hand, and bumping into Harry actually had been an accident… ugh. Harry couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing.

Harry stopped just behind Blaise and Theo, on the edge of a crowd of upper year students. Derrik and Bole there, but Harry hadn't gotten to know them well, even though they were beaters on the Slytherin team. Harry also recognized Urquhart, a fifth-year who always tried out for the team but was never quite good enough to make it as a chaser. It was a good crowd for a conversation about quidditch.

"There he is!" Urquhart was looking directly at Harry, a smile on his face. "I was just saying how curious I am to know what Flint said to you after the first time out. It must have been quite the pep talk. Care to share the secret with us?"

Harry smiled. "Flint doesn't give many pep talks, so I'm not sure how he'll feel about me giving away closely guarded secrets…"

"Come on, Harry. Be a sport."

"Well, I guess I can say." Harry waved his free hand in the air, motioning for Urquhart to come closer. Urquhart leaned in, as did Derrik and Bole. Even Blaise and Theo moved closer. "He said, 'Potter, in my first game, I scored on my own keeper. Don't do that.'"

Urquhart, Derrik and Bole looked at Harry curiously, unsure how to respond to his words.

"I never said Flint was good at pep talks," Harry said, then burst into laughter. Urquhart smiled and chuckled, even though it was plain that he didn't get the joke. Pansy laughed, a little too loudly, and slipped her arm through Harry's.

_That_ was no accident.

"That's really all he said?" Derrik asked.

"No, no, no," Harry said. "Flint did say something about strategy. What was it…" Harry feigned an inability to remember, playing the moment for drama. Urquhart leaned close once again, hoping to finally hear the secret strategy.

"Oh, right," Harry said. "Flint said, 'Potter: win.' And I thought to myself, 'Brilliant!'"

Derrik and Bole began to laugh. Flint's inability to articulate strategy was a running joke among the quidditch team. Their captain would often grow frustrated and yell things like, "Just do it right!" and "Stop screwing up!" Certainly not the most constructive criticism, and rather funny, in retrospect. On the field, however, Harry and his teammates bottled up their laughter, lest they face the wrath of the glowering Marcus Flint.

"It was a good thing that Gryffindor couldn't hear us," Harry said. "Flint had the secret strategy that they've been missing all this time. Gryffindor fly and pass and shoot but they always forget the last step: win. It's so simple, I don't know why they didn't think of it."

Urquhart's laughter joined Derrik's and Bole's. Talking to other students was easier than Harry had expected, and it felt good to joke with the other Slytherins. Harry wasn't sure what had held him back in the past, but he was sure that it wouldn't hold him back in the future.

"Don't look now," Bole said. "Your little stalker is staring at you."

Harry turned, following Derrik's gaze. Across the room, Tracey Davis was looking at Harry, eating a biscuit from a small plate. When Harry met her eyes, she gave him a small wave. Harry raised his head, nodding in acknowledgment.

"I said, 'Don't look,'" said Bole. "Now she's seen us and she might come over here."

"Tracey? What's wrong with that?" Harry was confused.

"She's a weird one, Potter," Bole said. Derrik nodded in agreement.

"Tracey's alright," Harry said. Harry looked at Blaise and Theo. Blaise was obviously trying to avoid making eye contact with Harry. Theo shrugged noncommittally.

"She's bizarre," said Derrik. "Always following you around, nipping at your heels."

"If I ever try to talk to her, she either ignores me or corners me and talks at me for the next twenty minutes," Pansy said. "Clearly she never learned the meaning of small talk. And she's not from a good family, either."

"What do you get from her?" Blaise asked Harry. "She isn't even that attractive." Blaise glanced at Pansy briefly as he spoke.

"I like Tracey," Harry said. "She's my friend, and I'm not going to talk bad about her."

Pasny sighed. "Don't get all wound up, Harry." She tugged at his arm. "Take me to get some pumpkin juice?"

Harry smiled a little. "Okay, let's go." He gave a shrug to Blaise and Theo and allowed himself to be led to the food table. Harry poured a cup of pumpkin juice for himself and another for Pansy. As he handed Pansy her drink, Daphne Greengrass came dashing up.

"Pansy!" Daphne seemed excited. "You absolutely have to see the dress that Millicent is wearing. It's a complete horror show."

Pansy glanced at Harry. She clearly wanted to stay with Harry, but Harry knew that Pansy had long held a secret desire to add Daphne to her clique of friends. Both Pansy and Daphne were rich, pure-blooded witches, and their families had a long-standing rivalry. If Pansy could maintain her queen bee status while forcing Daphne to take a subservient social role, it would be an enormous coup for the Parkinson family. Pansy's plot wasn't public knowledge, but Daphne had gradually become aware of Pansy's desire. Until now, Daphne had remained rather aloof, thereby avoiding most of Pansy's social intrigues.

"I'll be back in just a few minutes, Harry," Pansy said. She just couldn't pass up the opportunity to bond with (and potentially manipulate) Daphne. After all, nothing could make two Slytherin girls grow closer than being nasty about how another girl was dressed. "Wait here for me?"

"I'll be around," Harry said with a smile. If Pansy wanted to be around him that badly, she'd find him. She always seemed to manage it.

Before Pansy could reply, Daphne had seized her by the arm and was pulling her away into the crowd.

"You're a hard man to get alone," Tracey said from Harry's side. Harry was startled, but managed not to jump. Tracey had the unnerving ability to appear out of nowhere, and Harry was only slowly becoming acclimated.

"It's a party, Tracey. Weren't you just telling me that I should be doing this more?"

"Yes. Thankfully, Theo and Blaise managed to get you focused on people who are important. I was on the verge of coming over and chastising you myself."

"I didn't expect prejudice against first years from you," Harry said.

"Please. You have four more years to make the younger students like you. They'll worship the ground you walk on simply because you're older. But the seventh years will graduate in just a few months. And when _you_ graduate, they're the ones who will have jobs and business contacts."

"C'mon, Tracey. You're taking things too seriously! We just won the quidditch cup! This is a party! Have fun!"

"I saw what happened with Draco this afternoon," Tracey said quietly. Her voice was so soft that Harry could hardly hear her over the noise of the party, but Harry sobered immediately.

"It looked pretty horrible," Harry said, deliberately playing dumb. "I remember when I broke my arm last year, and this has to be much worse."

"You know that's not what I mean," Tracey said, refusing to be deterred.

Harry sighed. "Are you going to tell anybody?"

Tracey looked up at Harry and placed a hand lightly on his arm. "Of course not, Harry. I'll never betray you." Her gaze was steady and her voice honest. Harry could see how, in normal conversations, Tracey's intensity could be off-putting. Right now, however, it was more than welcome. Harry believed that Tracey would keep his secret.

Harry let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you, Tracey."

"But if I saw it, somebody else might have. You should go see Draco _right away _and make sure he knows the _real_ _story_."

In other words, Harry should go and lie to Draco. Once Harry established the "true" story with Draco, Draco wouldn't believe anybody who told him the truth about the match.

"Okay," Harry said. "I'll go talk to him"

"He should know exactly how you tried to save him," Tracey said, coughing lightly into her hand. "Make sure he knows that you were close but too late, and how bad you feel that your warning made him turn directly into the bludger."

"Yeah, I get it Tracey," Harry snapped.

"But sometimes you don't. I have to make sure."

Harry looked around. He didn't want to leave the party… especially not for the sort of conversation he was going to have with Draco. It would be uncomfortable under any circumstances, even if he wasn't planning on lying through his teeth to his best friend.

"One other thing," said Tracey. "Be careful with Pansy. She's trying to lay claim to you."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked. Harry also wondered if Pansy laying claim to him would be that bad.

"When Pansy was sitting quietly on a couch, listening to you talk to first years. She couldn't have been farther from the center of attention if she had tried. When have you known Pansy to willingly take herself away from the center of attention?"

"Maybe she just wanted to talk to me."

"Or maybe she wanted to wrap you around her finger, then stand you up and parade you around the common room so that everybody would know that Harry Potter was her territory."

"I think you're being overdramatic."

"And you're being naïve. I'll bet you ten knuts that Pansy told Blaise and Theo that she was going to extract you from your conversation with the first years, and that if she wasn't able to, the boys were supposed to come over and rescue you both."

"Deal." Harry was willing to do anything to delay the oncoming horror of his conversation with Draco. Harry caught Nott's eye and waved him over. He moved quickly through the crowd.

"Hey Harry, Tracey," Nott said. "What's going on?"

Tracey got directly to the point. "Nott, why did you go pull Harry away from the first years a few minutes ago?"

"Well, he wasn't doing a good job of getting himself away, was he?" Nott laughed and turned to Harry. "Sorry, mate, but Pansy and Blaise and I were having a laugh about it. Pansy was the first one to take pity on you. She said that if she couldn't get you out, we'd have to come save you both." Nott laughed again. "That girl is completely helpless, sometimes. It's a good thing Blaise fancies Pansy, because I was inclined to sit back and laugh at the both of you."

"Thanks a load, Nott," Harry said. Harry filed away the fact that Blaise fancied Pansy. That might be useful later.

"Hey, I helped you out eventually," Nott said.

"With friends like you…" Harry said, and Nott laughed again. Harry turned to Tracey. "I'm going to go talk to Draco. You and Nott have fun."

"You owe me ten knuts," Davis said.

Harry waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, I know."

As Harry walked to the hospital wing, he thought about what he was going to say to Draco. Part of him wanted to ignore Tracey's advice and confess what he had done, but Harry was sure that it would destroy his friendship with Draco. And, really, what would he say? "I was pretty sure you wouldn't die?" "I'm glad that I'm seeker and you're alive?" "Your health was less important than my personal achievements?" "I'm probably willing to sacrifice you if it means getting what I want?"

By the time Harry reached the doors of the hospital wing, he had resigned himself to following Tracey's instructions. But he couldn't lie to Draco. Instead, Harry would carefully emphasize his (belated) efforts to keep Draco from harm. If Harry was sufficiently convincing, then, by the time that somebody told Draco what Harry had really done, Draco would reject the story as a complete absurdity.

Harry reached into his pocket and grasped the golden snitch from the day's match, rubbing it with his thumb as if it were a good luck charm. He looked at the doors. Somehow, what he was about to do seemed more intimidating than facing down a three-headed dog or entering the Chamber of Secrets.

Standing outside the door wasn't going to help. Harry took a deep breath and walked into the hospital wing. He found Draco sitting up in bed, bandages wrapped around his head. As soon as Draco saw Harry, the blonde boy's face fell.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said. "I let you down."

"What?" These were the words that Harry had least expected to hear.

"Before today, you'd won every match that you had started at seeker. You started this match earlier this year, and I lost it for you. I let you down. I let everybody down."

"Draco, you don't-"

Draco interrupted Harry. "When it started getting late, I knew that Gryffindor must be dragging out the match, running up the score so that they could win the quidditch cup." Draco gestured at Harry's robes. "It's just like you, coming up here without even changing, even though we just lost the match. I'm sorry."

Draco was staring down at his blanket, despondent, when the golden snitch dropped into his lap. Harry's toss had been perfect. Draco picked up the snitch and turned it over in his hands.

"You can't be serious," Draco said.

Harry smiled. "Gryffindor never had a chance. They can't beat one of us at seeker, so how did they expect to beat us both?"

Draco laughed and raised a fist into the air, clutching a snitch. "Tell me everything."

Harry sat at the edge of Draco's bed and began to speak. Harry was quick in his retelling; Draco understood the jargon of quidditch, and Harry was able to convey in a word what a layperson would take several sentences to understand. Draco nodded, his smile growing larger with every word.

"That's fantastic, Harry! I can't believe we won!"

"The match, the cup… we won it all."

"You should be at the party, Harry." Draco pounded his fist against the bed. "And I should be there, too. Stupid head injury…"

"There will be other parties," Harry said. Maybe Harry could trade; if he denied himself the pleasure of returning to the party, perhaps it would relieve some of the guilt that was weighing so heavily on his heart. The universe worked like that… right?

"How did it happen?" Draco asked. "The bludger, I mean."

"When we switched to a three-across, the twins couldn't use the Bagman Bash against the chasers, because we were moving vertically…"

"…so they shifted their attention to the seeker. It makes perfect sense, in retrospect," Draco said. "You even tried to warn me."

"Yeah, but I should have been faster," Harry said. Given the amount of guilt Harry was feeling at the moment, it was easy to allow a small amount to creep into his voice. Draco could take it however he wanted to.

"Nobody else on the team would have warned me, you know," Draco said. "You're the only one."

Harry was astonished—Draco had already convinced himself that Harry had done everything he could to help on the pitch. It was like Harry's work was being done for him. The Powers That Be must have decided that Harry deserved a break, for once. Instead of lying to his friend, apparently all Harry had to do was cheer him up.

"Flint saved me last year when Dobby messed with that bludger," Harry said.

"Flint saved you because he wanted to play professional quidditch, and winning matches got him closer to his goal," Draco said. "You know I'm right, Harry. If I had taken Pucey's position, Pucey would have kept quiet and let that bludger knock me into next week, just so he could have his spot back."

"I don't think we're _that _cold and calculating."

"Maybe _you_ aren't," Draco said. "Did you ever wonder why I shook your hand at Madam Malkin's, before first year? Dressed like you were, obviously lacking any knowledge about the wizarding world? You fairly screamed muggle-raised. From what you know of me, is there any world in which I would try to be your friend?"

Harry was silent.

"I decided to be your friend," Draco said, "because I thought it would be a good idea to know Harry Potter. Not you as a person, but you as an icon: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. My father is always on about 'the importance of knowing people,' so I reached out and shook your hand. It was the Slytherin thing to do."

"So what? You're my friend now. That's what matters." Harry was actually a little offended, but he also felt obligated to cut Draco some slack.

"There you go again. You know why we're such good friends, Harry? It's because we understand each other. We know what it's like to have an image to uphold. The constant scrutiny, just because of your name. The expectations. You and me, we understand the loneliness of the elite."

Harry nodded. Harry did understand; every time a wizard spoke to him while looking at his scar instead of his eyes, Harry felt it.

"I can be myself around you," Draco said. "All the things that people want from me, the money or the status… you have that already. If you're hanging around with me, it's not because of my name. And I appreciate that."

Harry smiled. "Earlier this year, I said the same thing to Granger about you."

"Ugh, Granger. Why are you friends with _her_, anyway?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"The same reason you and I are friends: she treats me like a normal person." Harry paused. "Actually, I need a favor about that. I need you to stop calling her 'mudblood.'"

"It's only true," Draco said.

"She hates it, Draco. And if you keep it up, all the work I've put in to befriending the smartest witch in our year will go to waste."

"How very Slytherin of you," Draco said.

"Come on, Draco. Call it a trade for trying to warn you about the bludger." Harry's guilt flooded back full force, and he struggled to keep his voice even. He hated himself for saying that, but Draco shouldn't have been calling Hermione a mudblood in the first place. Harry and Draco were both in the wrong, so it was an even trade.

"Fine, I'll stop," said Draco. "But only because it's you asking."

"Thanks, Draco." Harry smiled. The two boys were silent for a moment.

"Don't you have a party to be at?" asked Draco. "You're wasting a perfectly good chance to bask in the adulation of your fans!"

"I don't bask, Draco. You bask. I revel."

"Then go revel. If I can't bask, then I have to live vicariously through your revelry."

Harry stood. "You and I will have our own celebration when you're out of the hospital wing."

"I'm holding you to that."

Harry waved and left the hospital wing. He felt much better. Things were looking up.

* * *

**A/N:** _A lot of Guest reviews last week, and some of them very detailed. Thanks to everybody, especially Gwenlynn, who is my most frequent guest reviewer. If you guys and gals were signed in, you'd get a PM from me in response to your review. Since you aren't, you'll have to be satisfied with this vague author's note. Then again, if your plan has been to avoid getting a bunch of PMs from weirdo authors, congratulations, you have succeeded!_


	19. Chapter 19

The third year Divination class was sitting on the steps outside Trelawny's classroom, each waiting their turn to take their final examination. The door opened, and Tracey Davis emerged. Her mouth was screwed over to one side, and Harry could see the muscles clenching in her jaw. She was obviously upset. Daphne patted her shoulder, then walked past Tracey into the classroom.

"What happened?" Harry asked. Tracey took a seat next to Harry, but one step higher. She was still shorter than Harry, who was not a tall boy, himself.

"I read tea leaves, and Trelawney didn't like my reading," Tracey said. "I did seven sets. SEVEN! I can't help it if they kept coming back different." Tracey raised her fingers to her temples and began to rub her head. "Well, mostly different. The first six sets were an even split. They were either Snake and Snake, or Snake and Lion. I did a seventh set for a tiebreaker before I started interpreting, but the seventh set came back as rat and dog."

"What did it mean?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," said Tracey. "But neither did Trelawney! And instead of giving me points for doing my best with a difficult reading, she docked me for having a difficult reading in the first place! Told me that I wasn't focusing with my inner eye." Tracey scowled.

"Maybe your inner eye needs glasses."

"Har har."

"You should have just told her that somebody was going to die," suggested Theo Nott. "She would have loved that."

"Maybe it means that Slytherins and Gryffindors are going to fight," said Draco, "and that Slytherins will win and they'll be the only ones left."

"Maybe it means that you're in love with two boys, and are choosing between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin," said Pansy.

Tracey rolled her eyes. "Please."

"Maybe it means that this whole class is a load of dragon dung," said Harry. "Seems most likely to me."

The students continued to chat until the door opened again, and Daphne emerged.  
"Harry, she wants you next."

"Wish me luck," Harry said as he pushed himself to his feet.

Trelawney's classroom was a complete disaster, which was in no way out of the ordinary. A small hutch containing blue and pink teacups stood against one wall. Next to it was a small wood-burning stove, atop which sat a whistling teapot. Crystal balls in varying sizes were scattered haphazardly on shelves around the room. The ceiling was painted with the signs of the zodiac and ancient charts for the movements of various planets and stars. In a dark corner of the room behind Trelawney's desk sat a small stone bowl and an obsidian knife with a wickedly sharp edge. Earlier in the year, Harry had asked about the bowl and knife; Trelawney casually told him that they were used for reading entrails in the N.E.W.T.-level courses. Harry had been horrified, until Tracey mentioned that nobody had taken a Divination N.E.W.T. in over thirty years.

"Have a seat," Trelawney said, absently gesturing at a small table in the middle of the room. She was at the stove, pouring herself a small cup of tea. "You'll be doing tea leaves, I assume? Would you like me to pour, or would you prefer to pour your own?"

"Actually, I think I'll do the crystal ball," Harry said.

Trelawney raised her eyebrows. "The crystal ball is a delicate method of divination, Mr. Potter, unless you have considerable natural talent. If you cannot peer into its murky depths, your grade will be in gravest danger." Trelawney's voice quavered as she said the word 'gravest,' and Harry struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. "I would recommend tea leaves," Trelawney said.

Harry shook his head. Tea leaves were easier, in the sense that they were clearly on display, but Harry didn't want to risk Trelawney disagreeing with his interpretation. The images in a crystal ball, however, would be seen only by Harry, so Trelawney couldn't second-guess his viewing. And if he didn't see anything in the crystal ball's "murky depths," he wouldn't hesitate to fabricate a vision for the benefit of his marks. Throwing in a death portent couldn't hurt.

"I'll stick with the crystal ball."

"Let us see if fortune favors the bold. Select your crystal." Trelawney sat at the table and sipped her tea. "We will begin when you are ready."

Harry looked around the room. He hadn't had a lot of success with crystal balls earlier in the term, but he did have a favorite. He found it next to the window sill, half-covered by one of Trelawney's scarves. The ball was large, almost the size of a quaffle. The ball was thin and delicate, though, and had a slight green tint when you looked at the edges.

Harry sat at the table. He placed the crystal ball on the small stand that Trelawney had provided. He took a deep breath and began to focus his thoughts, fixing his attention on the center of the crystal ball. He imagined his mind as a small room with only one window. The door to the room was locked, preventing the distractions of the present from entering his mind. The window—the crystal ball—was clear, allowing him to see out and into the future. Harry leaned forward, peering into the crystal ball.

There was nothing.

"I… er… I see a rat," Harry said, picking the first thing that came to mind.

"Mmmm." Trelawney's teacup was raised to her mouth. She made a distracted noise while sipping. With her free hand, she made a mark on a piece of parchment. Even upside-down, Harry was able to see that it was a small frowny-face.

Harry cursed inwardly, suddenly remembering that Trelawney had marked Tracey down for seeing a rat in her teacup. Harry leaned closer to the crystal ball. For some reason, the center of the ball appeared to be black as night… and…

There really was a rat.

The rat had reddish-tan fur and was standing in the blackness. The rat was reared up on its hind legs, as if it were a person. Its lips were drawn back, exposing its teeth in a snarl.

"And… er… a snake?" Viewings were often personal, so a snake symbol seemed like a safe bet. Also, snakes ate rats… probably.

"Of course," said Trelawney airily. "Your viewing is remarkably similar to Ms. Davis's. Perhaps your inner eye is focused on the same event?" Trelawney's eyes narrowed as she spoke. Harry drew back, slightly. Was she subtly accusing him of cheating?

Trelawney suddenly jerked erect—she had spilled tea on herself.

Harry looked again into the crystal ball, reassured that Trelawney wasn't clever enough to know the meaning of the word insinuation, let alone actually make them. Inside the crystal ball, the rat was still standing on a field of blackness, but now a snake had appeared, facing the rat. The snake had glimmering green and silver scales, and its mouth was open, fangs bared.

As Harry watched, the rat and the snake seemed to shrink… but they weren't shrinking, not really, they were just moving farther away. From a greater distance, Harry could finally see that the blackness of the background was an enormous shaggy black dog.

"And behind them, standing over them… it's the Grim," Harry said. He looked up at Trelawney, who raised her eyebrows.

"Is this the extent of your viewing?"

Harry glanced down at the crystal ball, but the vision was gone. There was nothing but clear glass on the table.

"I guess so," Harry said.

"And what does all this mean?"

Harry sat back and took a deep breath. "If I were feeling bold, I would say that the snake represents a member of Slytherin house, and the rat represents a future betrayal. The betrayal will result in death for both the betrayer and the betrayed."

"Possible." Trelawney began scrawling notes on her parchment.

"More realistically… I'm going to see a snake in the near future. Maybe a new pet. He's going to eat a rat, which will obviously die. I'll have to be on the lookout to make sure the snake doesn't choke and die as well."

"That seems rather… literal, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged. "I can only work with what I am given."

"Quite true. And it seems that you have not been given the gift of second sight, Mr. Potter. While you may continue to study Divination from a theoretical standpoint, the practical applications will likely escape you. I would recommend something more… concrete for your schedule next year. Perhaps Ancient Runes or Arithmancy."

"But Professor, I'm just telling you what I saw!"

"Mr. Potter, the difficulty of Divination does not lie in seeing the future, it lies in understanding what you see. There may not be any right answers in my class, but there are certainly wrong ones. You are excused. Please send in Mr. Zabini."

Harry stood, furious with his teacher. Telawney's class had been a complete joke for the entire year. What she had done could hardly be called teaching. And now she was giving a ridiculously hard examination with a completely arbitrary set of expectations! Harry couldn't understand why Dumbledore kept Trelawney around as a teacher, especially compared to the likes of Flitwick or McGonagall or Snape. And on top of it all, for once Harry really _had_ seen those things in the crystal ball! How was he supposed to know what it all meant?

As Harry reached for the door, Trelawney's voice called out, deep and hoarse. Her voice made goosebumps run up and down Harry's arms.

"_It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight... before midnight... the servant... will set out... to rejoin... his master..._"

Harry shivered as Trelawney's voice went silent.

"Professor… what was that?" Harry asked.

Trelawney coughed and sipped her tea. "I said, 'Please send in Mr. Zabini,'" Trelawney repeated.

"No, I meant… that other stuff."

"What 'other stuff' would that be?"

"Er… about the Dark Lord and his servant?"

"You have already given your interpretation, Mr. Potter. There are no second chances when it comes to second sight. And, I might add, a more fantastic interpretation would not improve your mark."

Thoroughly confused, Harry stepped out of the classroom. "Blaise," he said, "You're up."

"How'd you do?" asked Tracey as Harry sat down on the stairs.

"Same as you," Harry said. "Rats and dogs and snakes. Then Trelawney's voice got all weird and she started to talk about the Dark Lord."

Draco leaned forward. "Still trying to scare you, I think. You weren't suitably impressed with her prediction on the first day of class, so she's still giving out fake prophecies."

"Must be," Harry said, but he didn't believe it for a second. He sat silently for the rest of the exam period, brooding over Trelawney's strange words.

* * *

**A/N:**_ Had to get that out of the way. And now, we move toward our stunning conclusion, beginning Friday! (And continuing for the next month or two.)_


	20. Chapter 20

With two days left to go in the term, Harry had only his Care of Magical Creatures examination remaining on his schedule. Harry was confident that he would perform well on the exam—Hagrid's class had kept Harry's interest for the entire year, mostly because Hagrid's creatures were dangerous if not handled properly. As a result, Harry did not feel the need to study during his last free evening. Instead, Harry had gone down to the quidditch pitch to have one last flight on his Firebolt before the summer holiday. Tomorrow night would be the leaving feast, and the morning afterward Harry would be leaving for London on the Hogwarts Express.

Harry brought his flight to an end as the sun began to set. Although the quidditch pitch was still considered a safe zone, he didn't want to be caught outside in the dark. Chancing an encounter with Sirius Black was bad enough, let alone a dementor.

Harry tucked his Firebolt in the Slytherin equipment shed and closed the door behind him. He would retrieve the broom tomorrow afternoon, just before the feast, and would pack it away for the summer tomorrow night.

As Harry walked back to the castle, he heard a boy's voice, distantly shouting. Shouting was not unusual at Hogwarts; students were constantly jinxing on another, or mis-casting spells, or falling prey to the pranks of the Weasley twins. This voice sounded familiar, though. Harry couldn't place it, until he heard a woman's voice screaming for help. It was Hermione Granger; the first voice had belonged to Ron Weasley.

Harry broke into a run. If Granger was in trouble, he was going to help.

As Harry sprinted up the path, the Whomping Willow came into view. Granger was standing out of reach of its branches, screaming for anybody to help. At the base of the tree was Ron Weasley, being dragged backwards by an enormous black dog. The Grim. By the time Harry reached the tree, Weasley and the dog had disappeared into the hole at the base of the Whomping Willow.

"What happened?" Harry asked, as he reached Hermione's side.

"I don't know!" Hermione said. "That dog attacked us for no reason, and I can't get past the Whomping Willow to help!"

"I'll try," Harry said. Harry darted in, trying to dodge the Whomping Willow's branches. The tree lashed about quickly, striking Harry squarely in his stomach and throwing him back several feet.

"Harry!"

"It's okay," Harry said. He stood and grabbed his ribs, wincing. "It's faster than I thought." Harry took a moment, watching the rhythm of the willow's motions, then darted in again. As the tree brought its branches around, Harry pulled up short. The branches swept past, and Harry sprinted for the hole. As he neared the opening, he tripped on a root and fell square on his face. He heard the Whomping Willow creaking and cracking as it brought its branches around. Harry pulled himself up, using the trunk of the tree for support. As he grabbed at the knots on the tree trunk, one of them pushed into the willow, causing Harry to lose his balance.

Harry had taken too long, he was sure of it. He prepared himself to be whomped. At any moment, the branch would come crashing across his shoulders, and he would suffer the same fate as his Nimbus 2001.

Harry felt a light tapping on his shoulder. He turned and found Hermione standing behind him.

"The willow stopped," she said. "I think you did something. Hit a trigger, maybe?"

Harry looked back at the willow. "Was it this knot?" Harry pushed the knot again, and the willow began thrashing about. "Whoops! Get inside!" Harry grabbed Hermione and dragged her into the hole, just as the willow's branches swept past. The two fell into a heap inside the tree.

"Thanks for the rescue, Harry," Hermione said breathlessly. "Now, would you please get your knee off my kidney?"

Harry and Hermione stood. They were in some sort of secret passage.

"Any idea what this is?" Hermione asked.

"It's a secret passage," Harry said. "It leads to Hogsmeade, somewhere."

"And how do you know that?"

"Sources," Harry said. "Good ones. But they never figured out how to get past the willow…"

"Ronald must be up ahead," Hermione said, drawing her wand. "Let's go."

"You know, now that we're inside the tree with the crazy dog, this doesn't seem like such a good idea."

"Harry, that dog just attacked our friend."

"You're not the one who has been chased by a giant black dog all year! I saw it before school started, and barely escaped on the Knight Bus. Then again at the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match when the dementors attacked. Trelawny has been seeing the Grim in my future all year, and I just saw it in a crystal ball during my exam!"

"Trelawney's barmy," Hermione said.

"Yes, well… I'm just suggesting that maybe we should go get a professor."

"Go, if you want. I'm going after Ronald." Hermione turned and began walking down the passage.

"Why are Gryffindors always saying things like that to me?" Harry muttered. Shaking his head, he jogged to catch up to Hermione.

"By the way," Hermione asked, once Harry had reached her side, "How did you get here so quickly from Hagrid's?"

"Huh?"

"I just saw you at Hagrid's. How did you make it here so quickly?"

"I wasn't at Hagrid's," Harry said, perplexed. "I was over by the quidditch pitch."

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. "Hmm."

The tunnel was long and winding. Harry and Hermione moved quickly, but cautiously, prepared for an attack at any moment. No attack came, however, and the two students soon reached the end of the tunnel. There was a ladder leading upward, and a closed trap door.

"Up, I suppose?" Harry asked.

"Of course."

Hermione began climbing, but Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let me go first," Harry said.

"Harry, I'm a perfectly capable witch-"

"I know. Emphasis on 'witch.' If you go first, I can't climb the ladder without looking up your skirt."

"Oh." Hermione blushed. "You first, then."

"I mean, if that's what you wanted, I won't complain…"

Hermione hit Harry on the arm. "Now is not the time!"

Harry seized the ladder and began climbing. When he emerged from the trap door, he turned and helped Hermione climb out.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked.  
"I think we're in the Shrieking Shack," Harry said. The building was in complete disrepair. Furniture was tossed about and broken. Ratty curtains hung in front of boarded-up windows. Cobwebs hung from every surface.

"Let's find Ron and get out of here," Harry said. Hermione nodded.

Harry and Hermione went from room to room, wands out, looking for Ron. They found him in the back room, lying on an old, gray mattress. His leg was obviously broken. Ron's face was greenish-white, and he was desperately clutching his rat to his chest. At the foot of the bed was Hermione's cat, stalking back and forth and staring constantly at Ron's rat.

Something was familiar. It itched at the back of Harry's mind. He looked again at the scene before him. Something was missing…

Ron's words from last year shot through Harry's consciousness like a lightning bolt: _Where's Lockhart?_

Harry dove forward and tucked himself into a roll. Behind him, a gravelly voice spoke: "_Expelliarmus!_"

Harry heard Hermione yell as her wand was jerked from her hand. Harry's roll had carried him behind a chest of drawers, and there was a dull thud as the spell meant for Harry struck the front of the old piece of furniture. Harry took two deep breaths, leaning for the briefest moment against the back of the chest, causing the cheap particle board to crack and groan. Harry gathered his courage, then stood. "_Expelliarmus!_"

Harry watched as his spell shot toward a tall wizard with dark, ratty hair—a man who could only be Sirius Black. Black's clothes were in tatters, but they hung on his gaunt body as if they were two sizes too large. His eye gleamed maniacally as he batted Harry's charm away with Ron's wand.

Black fired back at Harry with his own _expelliarmus_, and Harry ducked back behind the chest of drawers, allowing the spell to pass harmlessly over his head. Harry tried to stand and cast his own disarming charm, but before he could fully rise, Black launched a spell at Harry. Harry was forced to duck behind the chest of drawers once again. Harry tried once more to rise, and once again, Black fired adisarming charm. Harry couldn't get out of a crouch; he was pinned down behind the chest of drawers.

Harry thought through all the curses he knew—_diffindo, reducto, incendio, confringo_—all of them required a line of sight. But if Harry moved from behind the chest of drawers in order to attack, he would be vulnerable to Black's curses and hexes. There had to be a way to attack Black while still remaining hidden…

Harry was suddenly struck with inspiration. Harry cast three quick cutting curses at the particle board at the back of the chest of drawers, slicing a hole so that he could see into the middle drawer from behind. Harry reached through the hole and pushed the drawer forward with all his might, sending it flying out of the chest and into the room. Through the opening, he saw confusion sweep over Black's face.

"_Expelliarmus!_"Harry cried. The spell shot out and up, striking Black in the chest under his arm. Ron and Hermione's wands flew into the air, and Harry rose from behind the chest of drawers to catch them neatly. Black held out his arms, palms open and fingers extended.

"Well done, Harry," Black said. "That was impressive."

"Hermione, get over here." Harry spoke without taking his eyes off Sirius Black. When the Gryffindor girl arrived at his side, Harry gave her back her wand.

"Harry-" Black began to speak again, but Harry cut him off.

"Shut up! Don't talk like we're friends! You killed my parents!"

Black nodded slowly. "Yes, but not how you think."

Harry blinked, and it was as if he was seeing the whole world through green water. Everything began to move more slowly. "You think I want specifics? I don't care. I'm going to kill you for what you did."

"You'll regret it, Harry."

"And maybe you'll regret killing my parents."

"I already do. Every day."

"Good." Harry raised his wand, and the green haze seemed to thicken. "Then this will feel even better."

A new voice spoke. "Potter, stop!"

Harry looked to the door of the bedroom. Professor Snape and Professor Lupin stood just inside the door of the room, wands drawn. In Lupin's hand was a crumpled piece of parchment that Harry recognized as the Marauder's Map.

"Snape." Black's voice was mixed with astonishment and hatred. "How did _you_ get here?" Black had backed away from the door and into a corner. His hands pressed up against the walls, and he began casting his gaze from left to right, desperately seeking a way out of the room.

"Step back, Harry," Professor Lupin said gently. "Professor Snape and I will deal with this."

Harry turned back to Black. Harry was so close. So close to justice. Green lightning crackled across Harry's vision, and his body was trembling with fury. He could feel his magic building, as if it were literally pooling in his hands. Harry was ready to lash out at Black. Harry's magic was calling for release. It wanted Harry to kill black, and Harry wanted to do it. All Harry had to do was let it go. Justice was so close…

"Harry, please. Stop." Hermione's voice was soft, and she placed her hand on Harry's right arm. Harry blinked again, and suddenly the world seemed normal. The green was gone. He allowed Hermione to gently push his arm down.

"Thank you, Hermione," said Lupin.

Snape snorted. "_Incarcerous._" Chains burst out of Snape's wand and bound Sirius Black. Snape strode forward and stood over the escaped convict, smiling triumphantly. "Sirius Black, helpless and under my wand. How long I have dreamed of this day."

"This isn't what you think, Snape," Black said. He began struggling against his chains, thrashing back and forth, shaking his head violently. "Remus, please, you have to listen to me! I didn't betray Lily and James!"

"What could you possibly say to convince me?" Lupin asked quietly.

"Peter is here!" Black screamed. "Look at the boy! The redhead!"

Lupin and Snape exchanged a knowing look. Lupin turned to Ron, who was sitting on the bed, clutching Scabbers desperately to his chest. The rat was twisting in Ron's hands, struggling to break free of Ron's fingers just as violently as Black was struggling against his chains.

"Do you mind if I examine your rat, for a moment?" Lupin asked Ron.

"Scabbers? Why?"

"Because Peter Pettigrew is a rat animagus," Lupin said.

"He is not!" Hermione said confidently. "I looked at the registry after McGonagall showed us her cat transformation. I would have noticed if Pettigrew was there."

"I didn't say he was registered," Lupin said calmly. "Neither Peter nor Sirius nor James registered their ability to transform, but they were all animagi."

"Hermione, I think he's right," Harry said quietly. Harry was standing stock still, frozen in place, staring at Ron and the rat. "Look at Scabbers' front paw. He's missing his smallest toe… and all they ever found of Pettigrew was his little finger…"

Ron pulled his rat closer to his chest. "What are you talking about? Scabbers is just a rat! He's been in my family for ages."

Hermione gasped, and raised her hand to her mouth. "Ron, how old is Scabbers?"

"I dunno." Weasley shrugged. "Percy had him, originally. So… ten or twelve years?"

Lupin held out his hand to Ron. "The rat, if I may?"

Ron shook his head. Scabbers squirmed and wriggled, still trying to escape. It was the most movement that Harry had ever seen out of Ron's rat. "No, it's just Scabbers!"

"_Accio_ rat," Snape said. The rat flew out of Ron's hands, and Snape caught it by its tail, holding it out for all to see. "Here is the rat. _Homorphus._" A blue light shot out of Snape's wand and struck the rat in the head.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Scabbers began to turn and twist and… grow. Snape dropped the rat and took two quick steps backwards. He raised his wand and pointed it at the floor, where Scabbers continued to expand and contort.

Finally, there was a popping noise, and a flash of white light. A short man sat on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He had a large, pointed nose and buck teeth. His clothes were at least a decade out of date, even by generous wizarding standards. The man glanced around the bedroom with quick, abrupt movements, before finally settling his gaze on Snape.

Snape's voice was soft. "Peter Pettigrew…"

* * *

**A/N:** _Just curious: What are your favorite Slytherin Harry stories?_

_Also, bonus chapter coming up on Tuesday! That's just how the pacing went in the story._


	21. Chapter 21

"_Incarcerous._" Before Pettigrew could move, Snape had him bound in chains.

"Severus, please," said Pettigrew in a quavering voice. "You don't have to chain me! HE'S the criminal! Sirius Black is the murderer, not me!"

"Perhaps," said Snape. "And yet, he has not spent the last thirteen years living as a rat. Something curious is going on, and I intend to discover exactly what it is." Snape folded his arms and gave Pettigrew a withering glare. It was an awful look that demanded compliance, more powerful than any glare that Snape would give to the worse misbehavior of a Gryffindor. "Explain yourself," Snape demanded. "Now."

"I was scared," Pettigrew blubbered. "Black hunted me down! He had come to murder me, thirteen years ago, and I was certain that he would find me again! I hid because I was scared!" Pettigrew began sobbing. "Please, you have to understand…"

Snape leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "I find it odd that you would hide from a wizard imprisoned in Azkaban," he said. "Why hide for the last thirteen years when no wizard has ever escaped?"

"But I was right to hide," Pettigrew said. "Black escaped, he did! Surely it was through the awful powers given to him by the Dark Lord!"

The expression on Snape's face changed subtly, as if he had made some sort of discovery. Harry wondered briefly what it was, but he was distracted when Black began shouting.

"Me? Get powers from You-Know-Who? You lying sack of-"

"_Silencio_." Snape casually silenced Black. "I am conducting an investigation."

Black scowled and attempted to say something nasty, but no words left his mouth.

Harry turned back to Pettigrew, and was struck by a memory from earlier in the summer. "Professor, Pettigrew said that Black hunted him down, but that wasn't how it happened. Mrs. Malfoy told me that Pettigrew was the one who chased after Black, trying to get revenge for my parents."

Pettigrew began to stammer. "I- but- that's not… I mean… Sirius was the Secret Keeper! He betrayed James and Lily to the Dark Lord!"

"_Silencio._" Pettigrew fell silent, and Harry saw that Snape was scowling once more.

"That's actually a good point," Harry said. Things were getting entirely too confusing.

"I think I can explain that," Lupin said, his voice sad. "When Harry's parents went into hiding, Dumbledore suspected that Voldemort had managed to place a spy in our midst. James did not hide the fact that he had chosen Sirius as his Secret Keeper, which meant that the spy would have known, as well. But if James and Lily changed their Secret Keeper at the last moment, without telling the rest of the Order, they would have remained protected while the spy would have been revealed."

"But why would they do that?" Harry asked. "And why wouldn't they choose you?"

"Because they must have suspected that I was the spy." Lupin's shoulder slumped.

Black rattled his chains, trying to get Lupin's attention. _I'm sorry_, he mouthed.

"For the last thirteen years I thought that you had betrayed James and Lily," Lupin said. "I'm the one who owes you an apology."

"Your tearful reunion will have to wait," Snape said sarcastically. "We are going to speak with the Headmaster. Lupin, bind Weasley's leg. Granger, you will transport Weasley back to the castle and take him to the hospital wing; _mobilcorpus_ is the incantation. Lupin, you will guard Black, and I will guard Pettigrew."

Lupin nodded, and waved his wand at Ron. "_Ferula_," he incanted. Bandages burst from the tip and wrapped Ron's leg tightly, holding it in place so that the fracture would not be compounded when Ron was moved. Lupin then moved across the room toward Black.

"Everything is making so much sense," Hermione said as she walked toward Ron. "Black was trying to get into Gryffindor tower all year, because that's where Ron was with Scabbers. It wasn't a mistake, after all."

Harry could see that Hermione was proud of her deduction. She glanced toward Lupin, looking for some signal of approval from one of her favorite teachers. As she looked toward Lupin, she passed by Pettigrew. Harry saw her mistake too late.

"Hermione, look out!"

Pettigrew lurched to the side, falling into Hermione's legs. The young witch stumbled, and in a blink Pettigrew transformed himself into a rat. The shackles binding his body fell to the floor, far too large to restrain a rodent. Pettigrew nipped at Hermione's ankle with his yellow incisors, and Hermione dropped her wand with the shock of the sudden pain. Pettigrew was suddenly human again, grabbing Hermione's wand out of the air.

Harry raised his wand, but hesitated. He couldn't curse Pettigrew without taking a chance of striking Hermione. Snape, however, was less concerned.

"_Stupefy!_" Snape shouted. A bright light flew out of his wand, straight at Pettigrew, but Pettigrew dragged Hermione's body in front of him. Hermione was struck directly in the chest by Snape's petrifying charm.

Still using Hermione as a shield, Pettigrew lashed out with a curse of his own. "_Confringo!_"

The blasting curse missed Snape but struck the boarded window behind him, detonating with enormous force. Lupin and Snape were blown off their feet, and Black was blasted aside. Snape struck his head against the corner of wardrobe and felt to the floor unconscious, while Black was tumbling across the floor. Lupin landed squarely in the middle of the room, where the light of the full moon poured in through the now-open window. The moonlight struck Lupin squarely on the chest, and it was only a moment before he began to howl in pain. Harry could see that Lupin's body was already beginning to twist and transform.

"What are you going to do, Harry?" Pettigrew asked. Something about the animagus transformation had broken Snape's silencing charm. "In about thirty seconds you're going to have a furry little problem on your hands." As he spoke, Pettigrew inched toward the window, dragging Hermione's unconscious body toward the window, keeping her between himself and Harry.

Harry glanced around. Snape was unconscious, Lupin was transforming, and Harry had never given Ron back his wand. Black was not only wandless but also in chains. There was no way to save everybody from the werewolf and stop Pettigrew at the same time.

"Too late, Harry." As Pettigrew spoke, the werewolf that was Remus Lupin reared up and howled. The werewolf took a tentative step forward, still uncertain in its freshly transformed body, inadvertently interposing himself between Harry and Pettigrew.

Pettigrew recognized his opportunity and made his escape. He released Hermione and leaped at the open window, transforming as he flew through the air, his body twisting upon itself. A moment later, a small rat scuttled away into the night.

The werewolf looked around the cabin, moving its gaze back and forth between Harry and Hermione's petrified form. The werewolf was clearly becoming more comfortable in its body; its movements were smoother, and Harry could see the predatory gleam in its eye. It seemed as the werewolf was deciding who it wanted to eat first.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry asked tentatively. "You took your Wolfsbane Potion tonight… right?"

The werewolf's lip drew back, exposing its fangs. It began to grown, and an enormous glob of saliva dripped toward the floor. Harry took a step backwards, and the werewolf began to flex its hands, opening and closing them, reminding itself of the motion it would use to disembowel its victims.

Harry thought back to his classroom report. There were two chief methods of surviving a werewolf attack: running, and blowing the werewolf to pieces. Running was not an option; there were four helpless people in the Shrieking Shack, and Harry couldn't abandon them. That meant that Harry's only option was to blow the werewolf to pieces… but somewhere inside that werewolf was Remus Lupin, one of his father's dearest friends and one of Harry's favorite teachers.

Behind Harry, there was a clatter of chains, and then a low growling noise. A large black dog leapt out from behind Harry, barking raucously. The werewolf began to growl, and the dog growled back. The two canines began to circle one another, slowly. When the werewolf had moved several steps away from Hermione, the dog dove at the werewolf. The wolf and the dog became tangled up, barking and snarling and snapping at one another, tumbling across the floor.

Harry dashed past the fight and crouched down by Hermione. "_Rennervate_." After last year's fiasco outside the Chamber of Secrets, Harry had made sure to learn how to un-stun somebody. Harry thrust Ron's wand into Hermione's hands. "You get Ron, and I'll get Snape." Harry turned toward his teacher. "_Mobilcorpus!_"

Snape's body lifted into the air, and Harry quickly moved his professor out of the bedroom. As Harry moved, he felt Hermione's cat dash past his legs, headed for the secret passage. Behind Harry, Hermione followed with Ron. Once they were both outside of the bedroom, Harry turned back.

"Black! Let's go!"

The large dog disengaged from the werewolf and sprinted toward the door. As soon as the dog passed, Harry slammed the door shut, bracing it with his shoulder. A moment later the werewolf plowed into the door with enormous force, driving Harry backward several inches. Harry pushed back, but he couldn't fight a fully grown werewolf. The door began to creep open, inch by inch.

Suddenly, there was another body beside him. Sirius Black, once again in human form, was pushing against the door. Together, Harry and Sirius were able to reach a stalemate with the werewolf; the beast couldn't open the door any further, but Harry and Sirius were unable to force it closed.

Behind Harry, Hermione had levitated Ron out of the shack and into the secret passage. She returned for Snape.

"Hurry, Hermione!" said Harry. "We can't hold him forever."

"Almost there," Hermione called from the other room.

There was a loud rumbling sound from outside the shack, followed by a great explosion. The entire shack shook from the power of the blast. Surprised, the werewolf jumped back from the door; Harry and Sirius took the opportunity to slam the door completely closed. While Black held the door shut, Harry cast a locking charm. "_Colloportus._"

"Let's go," said Black, ushering Harry ahead of him. "That won't hold Remus for long."

As Harry and Black climbed into the trap door, they heard the door to the bedroom break open with a crash. Black pulled the trap door shut and drew the massive steel bar through the rings.

"There's no way for him to get through that," Sirius said. "He'd need opposable thumbs, first." Black looked down. Harry and Hermione stood on the floor of the passage. Slightly further on, Ron lay next to the still-unconscious Severus Snape.

"Well," said Black, looking from person to person. "That certainly got buggered up, didn't it?"

* * *

**A/N: **_Thanks for the recommendations of Slytherin!Harry fics. A few of them I have already read - "__On the Way to Greatness_," by mira mirth, was suggested and is one of my favorites. Hope that gets finished. Also mentioned was "What Would Slytherin Harry Do," by Big D on a Diet. Just read that today, and it's hilarious. I read "They Shook Hands" by Dethryl once upon a time, and stopped for some reason. I'll have to go back and see what happened.

_Haven't gotten around to the rest, but that doesn't mean I won't. And please, keep the suggestions coming. I love a good Slytherin!Harry story._


	22. Chapter 22

Harry was staring up at the trap door, hands clenched. "Is there any other way out of this tunnel?" he asked Black. "Any shortcut?"

"No," Black said. "The only entrances are the Shrieking Shack and the Whomping Willow."

"Dammit! Pettigrew is going to get away!"

"He's long gone, Harry," Hermione said. "The Hogwarts anti-disapparition wards end just past the Shrieking Shack."

Harry screamed in frustration. "Aargh! I was so close!" Harry pounded his fist against the wall of the tunnel.

"Um, Harry?" Ron's voice was unsteady. "Can we get back to the castle? Because I've got this broken leg…"

"Oh my gosh, Ron!" Hermione dashed to Ron's side and crouched down. "Are you okay? You didn't say anything!"

"Yeah, well, there was this whole 'surrounded by fugitive Dark Wizards thing…" Ron's face was white, and his freckles stood out starkly from his skin.

"Let's just get back to the castle," Harry muttered. "We need to talk to Dumbledore."

They formed a strange procession: Crookshanks trotted in the lead, tail proudly raised in the air. Black, by all appearances still a lunatic fugitive, followed. Hermione was next, levitating Ron with his own wand, and Harry brought up the rear, levitating the unconscious Severus Snape.

"Harry," said Black, "Did you grab Snape's wand?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't think to pick it up. It must still be back in the Shrieking Shack."

"Bugger," Black said. "Would have been useful."

"I'm not sure I want to be the person giving away Professor Snape's wand," Harry said. "He seemed to dislike you especially, and I'm sure I'm in deep enough trouble as it is."

"Don't pay any attention to Snivellus," Black said. "He's probably been giving you a hard time for years, you being James's son and all. I'll make sure to put a stop to that."

"He's actually not that bad," Harry said.

"You don't have to defend him, Harry," Black said confidently. "I know what he's like. Your dad and I used to say that we had a golden trio of activities: playing quidditch, chasing girls, and pranking Snivellus." Black laughed. "Your dad and I played more pranks of Snivellus than the rest of Hogwarts combined! Once, I sent him to the Shieking Shack during the full moon, right through this passage. He almost made it, but your dad stopped him, first. You should have seen Snivellus's face. Absolutely classic."

Harry was bristling with anger. Who did Black think he was? Sending an unsuspecting schoolboy to confront a werewolf wasn't a prank, it was attempted murder.

Hermione sensed Harry's mood. "What I still don't understand is why Pettigrew hid as a rat for twelve years," she said loudly, making a flagrant attempt to change the subject. "Once you were in jail, couldn't he have revealed himself? It would have been so easy to say that he escaped your spell, but stayed in hiding until you were safely in Azkaban."

"He was hiding, but not from me," said Black. "He was hiding from upper echelon of the Death Eaters. They probably thought that he led Voldemort into a trap at James's house."

"Then why not later?" Hermione asked. "After the trials?"

"Those trials were a joke." Black scowled as he spoke. "There are plenty of Death Eaters walking free today. Most of them claimed that they were put under the Imperius Curse. It was easy enough to put an innocent man in Azkaban without a trial, but actual criminals with powerful names? Never." Black waved a hand at Snape's unconscious body. "Look at this greasy-haired git, for one."

"Stop it," said Harry. "Being in Slytherin doesn't mean you're a Death Eater."

"Oh, come off it, Harry. It's just us. It must be miserable for you, being stuck in Slytherin with all those snakes."

"Maybe you didn't notice the crest on my robes, Black, but I'm one of those snakes."

"And so was my whole family, before me," Black said. "Someone must have cast a confundus charm on the Sorting Hat, if you wound up in Slytherin. Maybe Snape did it himself…"

"I'm in Slytherin because I wanted to be," Harry said, his voice low and sharp. "I told the Sorting Hat where to put me. It wasn't an accident."

"But you were only eleven, Harry. If we petition Dumbledore, maybe we can get your house changed-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW ME! Stop talking like you do!" Harry shouted.

Sirius turned around. "Harry? I…" Black looked down, his face sad. "I'm sorry. It's just… you look so much like James."

"I don't care what you were to my father. You're nothing to me!"

Black leaned back slightly, as if Harry's words had physically struck him.

"What's next, Black? Are you going to tell me I have my mother's eyes? Yeah, I've heard. And my father was quite the quidditch player for Gryffindor, and my mother was a real crackerjack at charms. I take right after them." Harry rolled his eyes, then glared at Black. "You think I haven't heard it all before?"

Black ran a hand through his long hair. "This isn't how I wanted it to go," he muttered. "I've had a whole year, dreaming of this. Pettigrew unmasked, my name cleared, a reunion with my godson…"

"You held me for a few seconds when I was a baby," Harry said. "Big. Deal."

"It was more than that," Black said. "I was hoping that… I mean… I know you live with your aunt and uncle, but… well…" Black trailed off into silence. Harry waited only a moment before his frustration boiled over.

"Spit it out!"

"Your parents named me your guardian before they died," Black said. "I had been hoping that you would want to come live with me." He sounded pathetic, like a child who had just been told that his cat had been run over by a car.

"You can't be serious."

"I always am," said Black, smiling wanly. "Your father's favorite joke."

Harry threw his hands in the air. "You're making _puns?_ I just spent the better part of a year dreaming of ways to murder you. I was five seconds away from doing it! And now you want me to come live with you, a man I've never known, in a house I've never seen? You can't even stay focused on an adult discussion for more than ten seconds. How do you expect to be somebody's _guardian_?" Harry began walking, pushing past Black. "Maybe Azkaban messed you up more than you realized."

Black didn't move for several seconds. It was as if he had been frozen in place. Harry continued up the passage, squeezing past Ron's floating body, not looking back. Hermione finally stepped past Black and dashed to catch up with Harry. In her hurry, she bumped Ron against the walls of the passage.

"Oi! Careful, there!" Ron yelled.

"Sorry, Ron!" Hermione called.

Harry continued ahead, eyes fixed forward. Did Black really expect to just waltz into Harry's life? Hello, chum, I didn't really murder your parents, would you like to live with me? Harry had thought that he would do anything to escape the Dursleys, but tonight he had discovered the limits of his desire.

Ron appeared next to Harry, floating past as Hermoine hurried to catch up. "Hey, mate," Ron said casually as he moved past, giving Harry a tiny wave. Ron ultimately stopped several feet ahead, next to Snape. Hermione, breathing heavily, was standing next to Harry.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "Don't you think you're being a little hard on him?" She tilted her head backward to indicate Black.

"No," said Harry.

"Well, I do. He just spent a decade in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. You're his best friend's son. Can you give him a break, just a bit?"

"What, like the break he gave Ron? Sure, bring Black up here, I'll break his leg."

"So it's okay for you to make puns, but not Black?"

"Yes," he said with a huff. Harry realized exactly how ridiculous he was acting, but he felt entitled to a little petulance.

"You should apologize," Hermione said.

"I don't need to," Harry said confidently. "Black's going to apologize to me, probably before we get out of this tunnel. He's a Gryffindor, he'll pluck up the courage."

"Ugh. It's just like a Slytherin to hang back and wait for Gryffindors to do the hard work," Hermione said.

Harry could see that she was trying to goad him into doing what she wanted. It was terribly transparent and completely lacking in subtlety. If Draco and Pansy were around, they would laugh. But the worst part… was that it was working. Harry tried to resist, but he knew already that he would be the one to initiate the apology. But he wasn't going down without a fight.

"More like, 'Just like a Gryffindor, making work hard for Slytherins,'" Harry said. "If Black wasn't such a jerk, nobody would have to apologize."

"Just… think about it, okay? He looks terrible."

Harry looked back. Hermione was right. Black was plodding along behind them, eyes cast down to the ground. He looked empty.

Harry sighed. "Fine. I'll do it. But you owe me."

"Thanks, Harry." Hermione smiled.

"Hey! Hey, guys!" Ron had begun shouting. "Hey! What are you whispering about back there!?" Harry looked ahead. Ron was twisting his head and torso back and forth, trying to get a look at Hermione and Harry. He looked ridiculous.

"Nothing, Ronald," Hermione said, smiling wider.

"It sounds interesting!" Ron was now leaning straight backwards, turning his head upside down. He wasn't able to bend back far enough—he wound up looking at the ceiling. "Tell me what's going on!"

Harry burst into laughter.

"What?" Ron asked, still upside down.

"It's a good thing you're a laugh," Harry said. "Otherwise, I'd be embarrassed to be seen with you."

"You're darn right I'm a laugh," Ron said, pointing backward at where he imagined Harry to be. "Don't forget it."

Harry smiled and glanced behind him. Black had slowed his pace, and was dropping even farther behind.

"Look, Black," Harry said, slowing slightly and allowing Black to catch up. "I didn't mean to be a prat."  
"No, you're right," Black said. "You don't owe me a thing."

"It's not like that," Harry said. He ran a hand through his hair. Black's expression brightened, recognizing the familiar gesture.

"Tonight was just so… sudden," Harry said. "I mean, three hours ago I thought that Pettigrew was a martyr and you were a murderer. I just need some time, okay?"

Black nodded. "I understand. I shouldn't presume. You live with family, you wouldn't want to come live with somebody like me."

"You clearly have never met my mother's family," Harry said with a small smile. "Look, you were important to my dad. I want to know you. I just… don't. Know you, that is. Yet. Why don't we get to know each other first, and we'll figure the rest out as we go along."

Black nodded. "I'd like that."

"Harry, we're here," Hermione said.

Harry turned and found that they had reached the Whomping Willow. Black walked ahead of everybody, pausing at the exit. He reached outside and pressed the secret knot, freezing the willow's branches in place. Black turned and ducked back into the secret passage.

"Let's go see Dumbledore," Black said.

There was a flicker of movement behind Sirius, a black flutter against the black of the night sky. Suddenly, the stars were no longer visible through the hole under the Whomping Willow. Harry felt a chill go through his bones.

Black turned and looked outside the tree. "Dementors," he whispered.

Harry shook his wand, terminating the _mobilcorpus_ and abruptly dropping Snape to the ground. He strode quickly ahead, fixing an image of Ginny Weasley in his mind. When he reached Sirius's side, Harry extended his wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

A bright light burst out of Harry's wand. The dementor at the passage opening shied back, driven away by Harry's patronus shield. As the dementor moved away, Harry looked past it. If they were lucky, they could make it to the castle before the rest of the dementors responded.

It was too late. Hundreds of other dementors were swarming over and around the castle, moving toward the Whomping Willow like a massive wave.

Harry turned to Black. "Run."

Black transformed into a dog and burst out of the passage, sprinting toward the Forbidden Forest as fast as he could move. The flood of dementors turned smoothly away from the Whomping Willow, following the dog. Black was fast, but he was weak from living in hiding. The dementors quickly closed the distance between themselves and Black. But Harry couldn't understand why they were following the dog. Sirius had used his animagus form to escape from Azkaban, so why were they following now?

"He transformed in front of them," Harry said quietly. "They know the dog is Sirius." Harry climbed out of the passage and began running toward the forest.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled. "What are you doing?"

"He doesn't have a wand! He can't stop them!"

"What are you going to do!?" Hermione's voice faded as Harry sprinted away from her, but her words echoed in his ears.

What was he going to do?


	23. Chapter 23

Harry raced through the forest, wand held aloft, lumos charm lighting the way. He had long since lost sight of Black—finding a dark-colored dog at night in the Forbidden Forest was nearly impossible—but he could still follow the movement of the dementors. As he ran, Harry made a note to thank Flint for emphasizing physical fitness at quidditch practices. Harry was breathing heavily, but he was nowhere near exhaustion.

Finally, Harry burst through the edge of the trees. He was standing next to the lake at the center of the forest. A hundred yards down the shoreline, the dementors were swarming. At the center of them, Harry could see a large dog spinning in a circle and snapping at their cloaks. As Harry began running toward them, the dog collapsed onto its side, panting heavily. After a moment, the dog shuddered and twisted, and Sirius Black was lying on the sand in human form.

A dementor moved so that its face hovered directly over Black's. Harry was running as fast as he could, but he wasn't close enough. The dementor drew back its hood, and Harry could hear the beginnings of a horrible howling noise. Black's heaving breaths began to slow, slow, slow, until they were almost stopped. The dementor leaned forward.

Harry burst through the circle of dementors. "_Expecto patronum!_" The silvery wall exploded from his wand. His forward motion pushed the patronus shield directly into the dementor. The creature shrieked and raised its hood, falling back against Harry's assault. Harry spun in a circle, driving the dementors back with his shield.

Harry looked down. "Black, are you okay? Black?"

Black appeared to be breathing, but not much more. Harry suddenly felt the air grow cold. Harry glanced over his shoulder. Dementors were advancing from behind, from the direction of the forest. Harry spun and directed his shield against them. As soon as he did, the air grew cold from the side of the lake. Harry spun again, driving the dementors back over the water.

The creatures were relentless. Harry kept thinking about Ginny Weasley, about the feeling of her heart starting to beat, about how small but happy she looked when she was huddled in her father's arms in Dumbledore's office, about the crushing hug he had received from her mother. He thought of Ginny's desperate embrace when she first awoke, and the burst of happiness in his heart.

Harry's shield grew larger and brighter. The white at the center of the shield was so bright that it was almost painful to look at. The dementors shied away, but continued to swoop around the shore, trying to flank Harry or catch him from behind. And no matter how much happiness Harry held in his heart, he was growing tired.

Harry's shield began to shrink. First a little, then a lot. Lupin hadn't prepared him for this. Lupin had told him that he would only need the shield for a minute, maybe two, and then a professor would intervene. But tonight, deep in the Forbidden Forest, no help was coming. Black was still unconscious at Harry's feet, and the darkness was crushing inward.

Harry's knees buckled. His magic had begun to feed on his physical strength—a last, desperate attempt to power his patronus shield. Harry covered Black's body with his own, holding the shrinking shield above them like an umbrella.

It wasn't enough. As the dementors moved closer, Harry felt the cold of creeping death. Darkness began to seep in at the corner of his vision. He looked across the lake with the last of his strength, refusing to look at the dementors in his last moments, hoping that as he died he would see something beautiful.

At the opposite side of the lake stood a man with a wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

A corporeal patronus burst out of the wand, sweeping across the lake and driving away the crowd of dementors. The light of the patronus glinted brightly off the man's round glasses.

"Dad?" Harry whispered. The patronus swept above Harry, forcing the last of the dementors away. Harry struggled to lift himself, but he had no strength left. He collapsed, and was swept away into darkness.

*!*!*!*!*!*

Harry awoke in the hospital wing, wet and sputtering. Hermione was holding her wand over him.

"Was that necessary?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Madam Pomfrey wanted to let you sleep, but Dumbledore is coming and we have to speak with him."

The events of the night suddenly flooded to the forefront of Harry's memory. "Wait. How did I get here? Where's Black?"

"Dumbledore and Hagrid found you," said Hermione. "Ron and I were already here with Snape when Hagrid brought you in. He said that Dumbledore took Black to the Astronomy Tower and contacted the Minister of Magic."

"We have to tell them that Black is innocent!" Harry said.

Behind Hermione, the doors of the hospital wing opened, and Dumbledore stepped inside. Before he could say a word, Hermione began to speak.

"Professor! Sirius Black is innocent! You can't kill him! Peter Pettigrew was the Potter's Secret Keeper but he was also the spy and an unregistered rat animagus. He betrayed the Potters and hid as a rat with Ron's family for the last thirteen years but Black caught him tonight and Harry and Ron and I all saw Pettigrew alive but he escaped again! You have to believe me!"

Dumbledore drew his head back and raised his eyebrows. "My, my," he said. "Mr. Potter, can you confirm this?"

Harry nodded. "Everything Hermione said is true. You can ask Professor Snape."

"He's still unconscious," said Hermione.

"Then let's _rennervate_ him!"

"We can't, Harry." Hermione slipped into the lecturing tone she frequently used when she was reciting something she had learned from a reference book. "Professor Snape has a physical injury. Re-enervation is for magical stunning or paralysis. Until the physical injury goes away, re-enervation won't do anything."

"Ron, then," Harry said to Dumbledore. "Ron will tell you."

There was a shout from the other side of the hospital wing. "Roontail Wazlib!" Ron was lying on a bed, his hand thrust into the air with his index finger raised.

"Ron's a mess," said Hermione. "Too many painkilling potions for his leg."

Harry desperately looked back to Dumbledore. "You have to believe us, Professor! Black is innocent."

"I do believe you," Dumbledore said gently. "For you to profess Sirius Black's innocence would take an extraordinary event, the likes of which you have just described. And there is no evidence that you are under any sort of coercive or compulsion enchantment. However…" Dumbledore sighed. "I have already summoned the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge is on his way to Hogwarts at this moment, and he will order that the Dementor's Kiss be performed."

"So we'll tell him that Sirius is innocent!"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Cornelius is a proud man, and Sirius's escape has caused him a tremendous amount of embarrassment. If it became public knowledge that an innocent man had been imprisoned in Azkaban for the last thirteen years, Cornelius would be driven from his office in a matter of days. I am afraid that Cornelius will order the Dementor's Kiss, no matter what the circumstances."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "He'd order an innocent man killed rather than admit a mistake?"

"I cannot be certain, but it is a chance we cannot take," said Dumbledore. "Cornelius will be here soon. We cannot release Sirius from the Astronomy Tower directly—it would be too easy for him to be seen, and Cornelius might use such an occurrence as an excuse to seize absolute control of Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled sadly. "He is rather paranoid, and imagines that I am plotting to depose him. Ironically, what we do tonight may allow him to keep his job."

"So what do we do?" asked Harry.

"What we need," Dumbledore said, looking at Hermione, "is more _time_."

"What?" Hermione said. "Oh. OH!" Hermione reached to her neck and began pulling at her necklace. She pulled a small hourglass pendant from underneath her jumper.

"I believe that two turns should do it, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore said, walking toward the doors of the hospital wing. "I am locking you in. Remember, Sirius Black cannot leave through the castle. And please return to the hospital wing by this time, or there may be rather dramatic consequences caused by your apparent apparition."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Best of luck." He moved to close the doors, then poked his head through one last time. "One final thought: I quite enjoyed the walk we took earlier this evening, Ms. Granger. And the password to my office is 'Walnut Whip.' I am sure you will put that information to good use." Dumbledore closed the doors behind him.

Hermione grabbed Harry's wrist. "Hold on tight, Harry."

"What are we doing?"

Hermione turned her pendant over twice. The world around Harry's bed spun and blurred, and Harry felt as if he were being pushed through a cheese grater. With a jerk, everything stopped spinning… except for Harry's head. Harry took a giant, gasping breath of air and raised a hand to his temple.

"It's a time turner," Hermione said, tucking the pendant back under her jumper. "Professor McGonagall gave it to me at the beginning of the year. It's how I've been taking all my classes."

Harry's mind worked quickly, recalling their conversation in the library earlier that year. "How do you find time to sleep? You make time."

Hermione grinned.

"And you think I'm bad with puns," Harry said.

"Yes, well." Hermione glanced around. The hospital wing was empty, and would probably remain so until Hermione and Ron arrived later that night. "It's half past eight. Where are you right now?"

"Er… at the quidditch pitch, I think."

Hermione nodded. "Ron and I are down at Hagrid's. I wanted to review for our Care of Magical Creatures exam, and Ron wanted a snack."

"The three of us are hideously predictable," Harry said.

"Focus, Harry. Time magic is complex and nobody understands it well. Loads of wizards have gotten in trouble by killing their ancestors or themselves."

"So, avoid killing myself? Shouldn't be too hard," Harry said.

"Okay. We need to get Sirius out of the tower, but we can't leave by the front door or we'll be seen. So we'll need to get him out of the window, somehow."

"Why don't we just go to Dumbledore's office and tell him what's about to happen? Then he won't lock Sirius in the tower in the first place."

Hermione shook her head. "That isn't how this works. Sirius is already locked in the tower, so we can't change that."

"No, he isn't," Harry said. "Sirius hasn't even pulled you and Ron under the Whomping Willow yet."

"Just trust me, okay? I've had the Time Turner for a year, and I know how it works. You can't make a direct change to something you know has actually happened. There's something about time magic that prevents you from making those sorts of changes. If you try, then the time magic itself prevents you."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like this. If you tried to run down to Hagrid's right now and stop Ron and me from leaving, you wouldn't make it. You'd trip on the stairs, you'd be given a detention, Peeves would glue you to the floor, something like that. And the closer you get to actually making the change, the worse it gets. If you managed to almost make it to Hagrid's, maybe you'd be attacked by a wild hippogriff that would maul you half to death. But no matter what you did, you wouldn't be able to stop Ron and I from leaving Hagrid's, because Ron and I actually made it to the Whomping Willow and Ron got dragged into the Shrieking Shack."

"So we can't change anything, but we can do _other_ things?" Harry asked.

"That's close enough," Hermione said.

"Okay. So, we know that Sirius gets locked in the tower. We can't leave by the front door, or we'll be seen." Harry put his hand on his chin and scratched thoughtfully. "So we'll need to get him out of the window somehow…"

"I literally just said that," Hermione said snappishly.

"It's probably easiest to fly up there on brooms. We'll just take an extra to Sirius," Harry said.

Hermione's face went white. "Well, one of us could fly up there with a broom," she said. "Perhaps I'll just stay on the ground and make sure that we aren't seen."

"You can't still be afraid of flying," Harry said.

"And what if I am? Besides, you can do it, so there isn't any problem." Hermione began moving toward the door of the hospital wing. "Let's get down to the pitch and steal some brooms."

"Wait!" Harry said. "Professor Lupin has the map."

"What map?" Hermione asked.

"It's called the Marauder's Map." Harry quickly described the map and how it worked. "So, you can see anybody on the Hogwarts grounds, and the map never lies. I saw Professor Lupin holding the map earlier tonight, when he and Professor Snape came into the Shrieking Shack. That's how they knew where to find us."

"And you think Professor Lupin was using the map to keep watch over the grounds?"

Harry nodded. "I bet that Professor Lupin is using it to keep watch on me at the quidditch pitch, in case Black snuck in to attack me. If we go down to the pitch now, Lupin will see two of me, and everything will get screwed up." Harry frowned. "But we can't wait, either, because the doors of the quidditch equipment shed lock automatically at nine o'clock, and we won't be able to get a broom."

Hermione frowned. "That makes things more difficult." She tapped her foot against the ground, deeply lost in thought. "Of course! Hagrid!"

"Hagrid can fly?"  
"No, but a hippogriff can! And remember, I saw you at Hagrid's earlier just as Ron and I were leaving!"

"But I wasn't at Hagrid's earlier," Harry said.

"That's the point! I must have seen this future version of you! This is the answer!"

"A hippogriff is not the answer, Hermione. One of them almost gutted Draco earlier this year! Hagrid's my friend, but he has no sense when it comes to appropriate levels of danger."

"I rode Buckbeak earlier this year, and it was fine!" Hermione said.

Harry shook his head. "No hippogriffs, no way. I'm going to do my best to avoid being mauled."

"Well, if we're can't use brooms and we can't use hippogriffs, how do you propose that we get to the top of the astronomy tower?" Hermione folded her arms angrily. "Should we walk? Maybe we could swim!"

Harry thought for a moment, then grinned. "What if we drive?"

* * *

**A/N:** _Last week, irdgad asked how the dementors could see Sirius-shouldn't he have disappeared when he transformed? This is a totally legitimate question. Here are my thoughts:_

_(1) Dementors are blind, but Harry doesn't necessarily know that, or remember it in the heat of the moment._

(2) Dementors have the ability to sense emotions-Sirius says it himself in POA, Ch. 19. He also mentions that animal emotions are less complex than human emotions, and therefore the dementors have a harder time sensing them. Finally, he says that the dementors thought that his animagus transformation meant that he was losing his mind, because his emotions were simpler and less complex.

(3) Now, when Sirius escaped, he used his animagus transformation. He transformed into a dog, and when the dementors brought him food he trotted past. I have always thought it important, however, that Sirius was ALREADY a dog when the dementors arrived. If the dementors had been present to sense/witness his transformation, they would have been able to follow him. It's a pretty easy leap of logic - "Sirius Black was here only a second ago, feeling emotions. Where Sirius Black used to be, there's this strange dog thing, feeling simpler versions of the same emotions. We should probable follow it."

That's what happened here. Sirius was full of fear, which dementors could sense. Sirius transformed into a dog, but was still afraid. The shape of the soul feeling the fear changed, but it's still the same soul. And thus, the dementors follow.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry was trotting across the grounds of Hogwarts toward Hagrid's cabin. He and Hermione had done their best to simplify their plan, so that nothing could go wrong. Hermione would approach Professor Dumbledore in his office and invite him on a walk, partly for fun, and partly as an escort so she could go ask Hagrid review questions for tomorrow's exam. Harry, meanwhile, would go directly down to Hagrid's and mention seeing a unicorn earlier in the day. When Hermione arrived with Dumbledore, she and Harry would send Dumbledore and Hagrid on a walk through the Forbidden Forest to search for the unicorn. Once Harry and Hermione were alone, they would steal away on the motorcycle and prepare to rescue Sirius.

As Harry walked past the hippogriff pen, he saw Ron and Hermione leaving Hagrid's cabin, on their way toward the Shrieking Shack. Harry waved and they exchanged "hellos" as they passed. Harry then walked up to Hagrid's door and knocked loudly. It took Hagrid only a moment to answer Harry's knock.

"Harry! Haven' seen yer in a while. Come on in! Would yer like summat to drink? I have a pot o' water boilin', if yer'd like a spot o' tea."

Harry wasn't a fan of Hagrid's tea; it worked better as a cleaning solvent than as a beverage. Harry accepted the tea anyway, because he needed to keep Hagrid occupied with casual conversation for several minutes before mentioning the unicorn. If Harry brought up the unicorn too early, Hagrid was liable to charge into the forest immediately, before Dumbledore and Hermione had arrived. But Harry knew that both Dumbledore and Hagrid needed to be present to discover Harry and Sirius at the lake, so Harry had to stall. There was so much riding on this bit of small talk that Harry could feel himself beginning to sweat. It was the most nerve-wracking casual conversation that Harry had ever had.

As Hagrid made tea, Harry looked around the hut, trying to think up some subject for conversation. His thoughts kept returning to Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, no matter how much Harry tried to think of something else. It took Harry several moments to realize that asking questions about his parents and their friends was a natural subject of conversation, and that Hagrid wouldn't find anything suspicious about it.

"Hagrid, earlier this year you said that you knew my parents and Sirius Black, right?" Harry asked.

"Sure did, Harry. We weren' best friends, but I knew 'em. They were younger 'n me, 'n' all."

"Tell me about them," Harry said. "How did my father and Sirius Black meet?"

Hagrid laughed. "They met on the train ter Hogwarts, an' no one could separate 'em after that. They were always up to summat or another. Thick as thieves, those two were."

"What about Professor Lupin and Peter Pettigrew?" Harry asked.

"Those two came later," Hagrid said. "Professor Lupin and Peter were a quiet sort. Didn' have many friends, those two. Always gettin' made fun of by the Slytherins, Professor Lupin fer how he dressed, an' Peter fer beein' the portly type, if yer know what I mean." Harry nodded in understanding. It wasn't too far off how Draco treated Neville Longbottom. "Peter and Professor Lupin and Peter got ter know yer dad 'n' Sirius in their second or third year, maybe. It was almost like yer dad an' Sirius adopted 'em."

"Did you know Peter Pettigrew very much?"

Hagrid shrugged. "Yeh, I knew 'im a bit. Like I said, quiet lil' guy. Bad way ter go, the way he went. Only ever found his lil' finger, yer know."

"Oh, I know," said Harry with a scowl. "What was he like?'

"He was nervous, always lookin' over his shoulder. Squirrelly, yer know? I never understood why yer Dad liked 'im so much. Yer mum never liked 'im, yeh know. But then agin', yer Dad never liked how close yer mum was to Snape."

Harry's head snapped around. "What?"

Outside, there was a loud squawking. Hagrid turned his head. "Somethin's upsettin' the hippogriffs," he said, more to himself than to Harry.

Harry looked out the window, as well. The cause of the commotion was clear: the hippogriffs were screeching at Hermione and Dumbledore as they walked past the hippogriff pen.

"Looks like I hafter put on more tea," Hagrid said. "Wouldjer answer the door fer me, Harry?"

Harry opened the door just as Hermione and Dumbledore arrived. Hermione was standing slightly behind Dumbledore, and she gave Harry a thumbs-up. Things seemed to be going according to plan.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "How delightfully unexpected to see you here. When Ms. Granger proposed that we take a walk to visit Hagrid, I didn't expect such good company."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore, sir!" Hagrid called from the stove. "I have some tea on, if yeh'd like!"

"Yes, please," Dumbledore said as he stepped inside the cabin.

"Good ter see yeh again, Hermione," Hagrid said. "What happened to Ron?"

"He was headed back to Gryffindor tower," Hermione said. "I decided that I wanted to come back down and ask some more questions about tomorrow's exam."

Harry feigned surprise. "Our exam is tomorrow? Hermione, you promised you'd help me study!"

Hermione gasped and raised her hands to her mouth. The gesture was comical—she was a terrible actress. "Harry! I totally forgot! Whatever shall we do?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "It seems our walk must be cut short, in the interests of your marks. A regrettable development; I had grown quite fond of the idea of a stroll through the forest."

"It would be a good night for it," Harry said casually. "I think I saw a unicorn earlier."

Hagrid spun from the stove. "A unicorn? That's great, Harry! The unicorns kep' away after sommat was eatin' 'em two years ago. If they're back…" Hagrid's face fell suddenly. "But I can't go lookin' for 'em tonight, not with all the dementer's aroun'. Give me the willies, they do."

"Perhaps I can accompany you," Dumbledore said. "I consider managing the Forbidden Forest to be official Hogwarts business, after all. The rest of my work can wait." Dumbledore smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled.

"Hermione and I can stay here and study," Harry suggested. "When you and Professor Dumbledore come back from your walk, Hermione and I will go back to the castle."

"This is not the safest plan we have ever devised," Dumbledore said. "Not with dementors surrounding the school and Sirius Black still at large."

"We'll be safe," Harry said. "We'll lock the door and draw the curtains. Nobody will even know we're here!"

Hermione put her two cents in, as well. "Professor Dumbledore, if there's a unicorn in the forest, it's best to know right away. If Hagrid can't find it and help it settle in the forest, it might move on!" Hermione reached up to her neck and scratched, right at her collar. Her hands caught the chain of her time turner. "Besides," she said, "I'm sure it'll be _worth your time_."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again. "Indeed? Well, why not. The two of you seem responsible enough." Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "Would you suggest a particular location for our stroll?"

"Try the bridge, first," Harry said. The location was far away from Hagrid's hut, and it would allow Harry and Hermione to safely abscond with the motorcycle. "If not there, stop by the lake on your way back."

Dumbledore smiled. "A fine suggestion for a walk, Mr. Potter. Shall we, Hagrid?" Dumbledore opened the door to the cabin, and led Hagrid into the night. Harry and Hermione waited several minutes, pretending to study, making sure that Dumbledore and Hagrid were well away from the cabin.

"Okay, I think they're gone for good," Harry said. "Now we just need the keys to the motorcycle. Hagrid told me earlier in the year that he locked them in the box on the bookshelf, but we need to find the key to that box."

Harry and Hermione started rummaging around the hut, searching for the hidden key. They looked under the bed, atop the doorframe, in various boxes and jars, but they couldn't find the key anywhere. Harry quickly grew frustrated. As Hermione continued to search, Harry stood in the middle of the room, arms folded. Where would Hagrid keep his keys?

As Harry looked around, something shiny caught Harry's eye. Hanging from a hook next to the door was a small key.

It seemed ridiculous, but then again, Hagrid had never been one for safety. Harry snatched the key off the hook and thrust it into the locked box. It turned easily. Harry removed the keys to the motorcycle and jangled them lightly in the air.

"Where'd you find the key to the box?" Hermione asked.

"Er…" Harry closed and locked the box, then returned the key to its hook. "Here?"

"It's like 'The Purloined Letter,'" Hermione said. "Hiding in plain sight."

"Sure," said Harry. "I bet that's exactly what Hagrid was going for."

"So where's the motorcycle?" Hermione asked.

"Hagrid said it's down in the stables," Harry said as he walked to the door.

"Hogwarts has stables?" Hermione said.

Harry nodded. "I've seen them on the Marauder's Map before, but I just figured that they weren't being used any longer. Hagrid says he keeps thestrals in them, sometimes." Harry stopped at the threshold of Hagrid's cabin and reached into the pockets of his robes. After a moment's rummaging, Harry found his invisibility cloak and unfurled it. "Get under this," Harry said.

Hermione stepped closer. "What is it?" she asked.

With a twirl, Harry pulled the cloak around them. "It's my invisibility cloak," he said.

"You have an invisibility cloak!?" Hermione yelled, voice full of excitement.

"It doesn't work if you shout," Harry said.

"You have an invisibility cloak?" Hermione repeated, more quietly. She turned to Harry, and realized that she was standing unexpectedly close. Their faces were only inches apart.

"I've had it since first year," Harry said in a low voice. "It used to be my dad's."

"It's amazing," Hermione said, lightly touching the cloak with her hands. She glanced up at Harry, looking at him through her eyelashes. Harry suddenly noticed the smell of Hermione's shampoo, a fruity sort of apple smell, which was very strong under the cloak.

"I… er… I thought Ron would have told you," Harry whispered.

"Ron. Right." Hermione turned her head to one side. "He knows about it?"

"He and I used it first year to go see Fluffy at Christmas," Harry said. He was puzzled. A second ago, things had seemed like… something. But now they weren't.

"We need to focus," Hermione said. "Let's get to the stables."

"This way," Harry whispered. He put a hand at the small of Hermione's back, gently moving her toward the door. Harry opened the door for Hermione, but left his hand on her back. It was absolutely necessary to do so. They had to stay quiet under the invisibility cloak. And close. So the cloak wouldn't flutter up and reveal their feet. No other reason.

"You don't have to keep pushing me," Hermione said, as they stepped outside. Her face was a little red, and she looked straight ahead, refusing to turn and look at Harry standing next to her.

Harry jerked his hand back. "Sorry." He closed the door behind them, then pointed to an old path leading away from Hagrid's cabin, past the pumpkin patch and out of sight. "This way."

Harry was quiet for the rest of the walk. Things had gotten strange. As if things could possibly become stranger than time travelling to rescue an escaped convict from execution.

The stables were obviously ancient, and in a terrible state of disrepair. There were holes in the roof in multiple places, and there were no doors attached to the enormous hinges at the entrance of the stables. The open entrance did not give the impression of hospitality. Instead, Harry was left with the feeling that the it was some sort of sinister lure, inviting him to enter with the false promise of an easy exit.

Despite the dilapidated appearance of the stables, Hagrid was clearly using them for something. There were several fresh bales of hay piled near the entrance, and next to the hay was large, frost-covered metal box. The box seemed to be enchanted with a permanent cooling charm, and Harry was wondering what it contained when he noticed the dark stains on and around the box's steel colored doors. Harry couldn't be sure from this distance, but those looked like bloodstains.

Harry was not interested in moving closer to confirm his suspicions.

"What is Hagrid doing down here?" Hermione asked quietly. She and Harry had stopped short of the stables. The invisibility cloak was wrapped tightly around them, and they had both drawn their wands.

"I don't know," Harry whispered in reply. "Should we go back?"

"There isn't enough time," Hermione said. She was right—the broom closets would be locked by the time they made it to the quidditch pitch. They were committed to their plan.

"I guess we go in," Harry said. But neither Harry nor Hermione took a step forward.

After several more seconds spent staring at the stables, Hermione shivered. "It's so quiet," she said. "I don't like it."

Harry nodded. "It feels like we're being watched," he said.

Again, the two students fell silent, staring into the darkness of the stables.

"Nothing's going to get accomplished if we just stand here," Hermione said. Her words were far more confident than her voice.

"The sooner we get the motorcycle, the sooner we can leave," Harry agreed.

"Right."

"So…" Harry drew out the word, doing his best to delay the inevitable. "Ready to go in?"

Hermione shuddered again. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Harry transferred his wand to his left hand, the same hand he was using to hold the cloak shut. He reached down with his right and took Hermione's hand in his. Harry was certain that Hermione would pull away, but she immediately threaded her fingers through his. Harry gave her hand a squeeze, and Hermione squeezed back.

"Okay," Harry said. "Let's go find a motorcycle."

The two students entered slowly. The stables were creepy, even though they were completely empty. The vacant stalls on either side of them loomed like open mouths, gaping ominously in the gloom. Many of the stalls were filled with piles of hay, arranged in large lumps with a depression in the middle, as if some sort of animal had been using the stable to sleep. A few of the stalls had dark smears on the ground or on the walls, the same red-black substance that had stained the doors of the meat cooler.

There were probably a thousand innocent explanations for Hagrid to keep a bloodstained meat cooler… Harry just couldn't think of any at the moment, in the fading twilight.

They found the motorcycle in the last stall, lashed under a tarp. Harry quickly uncovered the bike and hopped onto the seat. He used _lumos _to light the dark stall and took a few moments to familiarize himself with the controls.

Hermione waited for Harry at the stall's entrance. She had pulled down the hood of the invisibility cloak, but was keeping the cloak wrapped around her shoulders, clutched tightly in her hands. As Harry examined the motorcycle, Hermione began to glance nervously behind her, into the deepening darkness of the stables. There was almost no light left from the sun.

"Can you hurry?" Hermione asked nervously. "The light's almost gone."

"I'm doing my best," Harry said. Luckily, wizards considered muggle technology to be a mystery, and Hagrid had labeled the majority of the controls with pictograms or small words. As Harry moved his hands around the bike, he began to see how everything made sense.

Hermione let out a shriek of fright and spun around, raising her wand and pointing it into the darkness. "Something touched me!" she shouted.

Harry raised his wand and aimed it into the blackness of the stables, moving it quickly from side to side. The light of his _lumos_ charm revealed nothing.

"There's nothing there," Harry said.

"Something touched me," Hermione repeated.

"It's just your nerves."

"Then why haven't you put your wand away?" she asked angrily.

It was a fair point. Harry was still aiming his wand into the darkness, just like Hermione. "Where did-" Harry began.

"Shh." Hermione shook her head. "Listen."

Harry fell silent. The only sound he could hear was his own breath. Nothing moved in the stables—Harry and Hermione might as well have been standing in a crypt.

Except…

"There," Hermione said. Harry listened, and then he heard it again. A rustling noise. The scraping sound of hay.

"It's probably just the wind," Harry said weakly. But he knew there was no wind.

"_Lumos_," Hermione incanted. Her wand lit and she shined the light into the darkness. There was no movement in path at the center of the stables, but as Hermione directed the light from stall to stall, Harry saw something that made his blood run cold. The hay in the stall across from them was moving and shifting, but not in the way that hay would blow in the wind. Instead, the hay was sinking and compressing, as if some sort of invisible weight were settling upon it.

"Hermione, get on the bike," Harry said. He glanced down at the controls of the motorcycle. He wasn't precisely sure he knew how they worked, but it was time to find out.

Hermione was still moving the light from her wand around the stables. It seemed as if she had not seen the movement of the hay. "What is it?" Hermione said.

"Just… do what I say and get on the bike," Harry said.

Hermione began backing toward Harry, light still pointed into the darkness of the stables. Something in Harry's voice had finally conveyed the urgency of the situation.

"Get on the bike behind me," Harry said, once Hermione had reached the motorcycle. Hermione took one last look into the darkness before extinguishing her wand. Hermione moved toward the motorcycle, then hesitated, glancing at the sidecar.

"Come on," Harry said impatiently. At the edge of the light from his wand, he could see that the hay in the opposite stall was still moving unnaturally.

With a shake of her head, Hermione stepped forward and climbed onto the bike behind Harry. "It'll be easier for Sirius to get into the sidecar," Hermione said quietly, and Harry wasn't sure whether she was speaking to him or to herself. "Where do I hold on?" Hermione asked.

"There's only one set of handles," Harry said absently. The movement of the hay was beginning to change, but Harry couldn't see it clearly enough to know what was happening. "Grab around my waist."

Hermione blushed, but scooted forward and wrapped her arms around Harry's waist.

"Here we go," Harry said. He turned the key and the motorcycle engine roared to life, a deep, bass thrumming. The headlight flared and flooded the opposite stall with light. Harry could see the hay clearly, now, and the invisible weight appeared to be lifting. Whatever had settled on the hay before had changed its mind, and was now standing up.

"Did you see that?!" Hermione yelled over the sound of the engine.

"Yes!" Harry yelled back. Harry twisted the accelerator, and the bike gingerly moved forward and into main row of the stables. As the bike left its stall, Harry saw the hay across from him was being pushed backwards. The invisible thing was coming forward, out of its stall.

"HARRY!" Hermione yelled.

"I KNOW!" Harry shouted back. Harry twisted the throttle and the bike jerked forward, but not before Harry a blast of hot, rancid-meat breath on his face. Harry put his head down and focused on controlling the motorcycle as it rumbling toward the entrance of the stables. As Harry continued to accelerate, he felt the front wheel of the motorcycle began to shake and wobble. Hermione's arms wrapped tightly around him as he struggled to maintain control over the enormous motorcycle. Harry was pushing the limits of his ability to drive, but he would rather face the danger of the motorcycle than whatever invisible carnivorous monster was lurking behind in the darkness.

With a roar, the motorcycle burst out of the stables. The sound of the engine echoed through the trees, and Harry thought that the blue-black of the night sky had never seemed so welcoming.

Harry did not release the accelerator until he and Hermione were a substantial distance away from the stables. The motorcycle coasted to a halt, and Harry turned to look back. There was no sign that anything was following them.

Now that he was away from the stable, the panic that Harry had felt only moments before seemed foolish. There were no invisible monsters in the Hogwarts stables. Just the wind and the darkness and Harry's mind playing tricks. Maybe the smell of rotting meat from Hagrid's awful meat cooler.

But Harry wasn't about to go back and check.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked Hermione, glancing over his shoulder.

Hermione's arms were still wrapped tightly around Harry's chest, and her face was crushed against his back. "Are we safe?"  
"I think so," Harry said. "We're not dead yet, at least."

Hermione looked up, loosening her grip slightly, but she didn't let go of Harry. When she saw that the stables were still in sight, she made a face.

"I want to get as far away from here as possible," she said.

"I can manage that," Harry replied. He glanced back down at the controls. Now that he had an extra moment to consider them, Hagrid's pictograms made perfect sense. "Ready?" Harry asked.

"For what?"

Harry grinned and pressed a button, then jammed the throttle forward. The motorcycle leapt into the air with a mighty roar of its engine. No matter how loud the engine was, it was not loud enough to drown out the sound of Hermione's scream of surprise. Hermione tightened her arms around Harry's chest, once again pulling herself close and burying her head into the back of Harry's robes.

Moments later, Harry and Hermione were above the Forbidden Forest, looking down at the night. The stables were out of sight, hidden by a distant line of trees. Hermione was still clinging to Harry, almost violently.

"Look at everything," Harry said, gesturing to the landscape. "It's so beautiful."

"It's beautiful from the ground, too," Hermione said in a small voice.

Harry paused for a moment, lost in thought.

"There's something I need to say," Harry said. He paused for a moment, trying to find words for what he was going to say next.

"Harry," Hermione said, "I don't know if this is a good idea…"

"I think I saw my dad tonight," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione seemed thrown, as if she had expected Harry to say something else.

"At the lake, with Sirius. There was somebody else on the other side. I was trying to keep the dementors back, but I couldn't stop them all. They were attacking me and Black, and they were going to kiss us both. Just before I passed out, I saw someone across the lake. He looked… like my dad."

"Harry, your father passed away years ago."

"I know what I saw," Harry said. "But even if you don't believe me, we can see for ourselves, before we rescue black from the tower. I have another chance, and I want to figure out who it was."

"We have to stay hidden, Harry."

"We will. But I have to know."

Hermione pulled herself closer and rested her head against Harry's back. "Okay, Harry. We'll go."

Harry pulled the bike around to look at the Hogwarts clock tower. It was almost nine fifteen, and the full moon had risen above the horizon.

The moon.

Harry pressed down on the motorcycle throttle and the engine roared once again. The bike raced forward into the night.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

"The moon just rose, Hermione! In a few seconds, Pettigrew is going to steal your wand and run out of the Shrieking Shack." Harry leaned forward and hit the throttle again. "I'm going to be waiting for him."

* * *

**A/N:** _Only three more chapters to go in this book! Then we're on to Book 4, Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament. (I have the worst titles, I know.) It's probably time to favorite me as an author, if you haven't already, so that I don't lose you when I switch books._


	25. Chapter 25

As Harry approached the Shrieking Shack, he pressed a large button with a red X over a drawing of an ear. The engine fell silent, but continued to run. The clearing was quiet below them.

"Harry, I don't think we should be doing this."

"Why not? If we catch Pettigrew, it's easy to prove Sirius's innocence. And you'll get your wand back."

Hermione frowned and made a small noise in her throat. "Mmm. Fine. But keep your voice down, otherwise we'll hear ourselves."

"I think the other me will be too busy with a werewolf to worry about strange voices outside," Harry said.

Below them, there was a muffled shout—past-Harry's voice. "Hermione, look out!"

Harry pulled his wand and aimed at the window. "Try to petrify him immediately. Don't let him get far." Hermione grimaced, but drew Ron's wand and took aim.

Below them, a boarded-up window blasted open. Harry felt his palms begin to sweat. Inside the shack, out of sight, Pettigrew was moving toward the window at this very moment. He was almost ready to make his escape… there. A small shape shot out of the window—Peter Pettigrew, the rat.

Harry and Hermione began casting. "_Petrificus totalus. Petrificus totalus._" Their spells struck the ground on either side of the rat. Pettigrew raised his head briefly, identifying the location of his attackers, then made a mad dash to toward the edge of the forest.

Harry continued casting petrifying charms, but the rat was too small and too nimble. Pettigrew was impossible to hit. Harry and Hermione were casting as rapidly as they could, but they had no chance of petrifying Pettigrew

Inside the shack there was a sudden loud snarling and barking—Black had transformed and was now fighting with Lupin. Harry took advantage of the commotion, and tried a new tactic.

"_Incendio!_" A fist-sized fireball rocketed out of Harry's wand and exploded against the ground near the rat. Pettigrew squeaked and dove away from the fire. Harry's spell hadn't come any closer than before, but the splash of flames from the impact had almost caught Pettigrew. The rat scrambled to his feet, taking a second to get his bearings before he resumed his desperate dash for the forest.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked. "I thought we were capturing him!"

"We'll never petrify him at this distance," Harry said. "I'd rather have him dead than free. _Incendio!_"

Inside the Shrieking Shack, past-Harry's voice called out. "Black, let's go!"

Harry's curse missed again. Hermione continued to cast petrifying charms, but she was no more accurate than Harry and Pettigrew was quickly approaching the edge of the trees. Harry remembered something that Hermione had said a few hours ago: "The anti-apparition wards end just past the Shrieking Shack." If Harry was ever going to stop Pettigrew, he had to do it now.

Harry began waving his wand in a circle above his head. "_Incendio. Incendio. Incendio._" A fireball appeared at the tip of his wand. Each time Harry circled his wand, he repeated the curse, and each time Harry repeated the curse, the fireball grew, first the size of a fist, then the size of a bludger, then the size of a melon.

"Harry, what is that?" Hermione yelled.

Harry ignored her. He could feel the heat coming off his curse; the fireball was now as big as one of the tires on the motorcycle. Below, Pettigrew was almost to the edge of the trees. It was now or never.

Harry snapped his wand down, and cried out one final time. "_Incendio!_"

The massive fireball roared toward the ground, illuminating the clearing in brilliant reds and yellows. If Pettigrew could sense the danger, he didn't look up—he continued his sprint toward the trees and the edge of the anti-apparition wards.

The fireball struck the ground and detonated in an enormous explosion, and the force of the blast shook the Shrieking Shack. Harry saw flames rise upwards, and raised a hand to cover his face. As the heat began to fade, he lowered his hand and looked at the clearing.

The meadow was devastated. The grass, green only moments before, was now black and charred. Some small trees had been blown completely over, and small fires burned in several places.

There was no sign of Pettigrew.

"I'm going down to look," Harry said.

"Harry… nobody could have survived that."

Harry laughed harshly. "I've read that news story before, Hermione. I have to know."

Harry brought the bike down in the center of the clearing. He hopped off and began walking around, searching the ground for any sign of Pettigrew's body. Hermione immediately moved in the opposite direction. When she reached the Shrieking Shack, she cast _reparo_, restoring the boards to the window. No werewolf would be roaming the Forbidden Forest tonight.

Harry ignored her, focusing on the ground at the edge of the woods. As he scanned the ground, Hermione moved around the meadow, casting _aguamenti_ and putting out the fires that were still burning.

Finally, Hermione approached Harry. "It's getting late, Harry. We have to go. Did you find anything?"

"No." Harry's voice was bitter. "That rat escaped again."

"Harry… there's no way..."

"If there's one thing that Pettigrew does well, it's run away," Harry said. "He's still out there, somewhere. I can feel it." Harry turned to Hermione, his face hard. "I'm going to find him. And when I find him, I will kill him."

Hermione drew back. The cold hatred in Harry's voice was frightening.

"Let's go," Harry said. "We can still make it to the lake." Harry's tone left no room for protest. Hermione followed Harry to the bike and climbed into the sidecar. Harry started the engine and lifted them into the air, smoothly taking them above the trees and across the forest.

*!*!*!*!*

As Harry approached the lake, he could already see flashes of light from his past self's patronus shield. He landed on the opposite side of the lake, quietly setting the bike down among the trees. He walked quickly toward the shore.

"It was just over here," Harry said, pointing at a log ahead of them.

"Stay back," Hermione said. "You don't want to see yourself."

Harry nodded absently. It was several seconds until the full import of Hermione's words struck him. Harry's heart sank, and he lowered his eyes to the ground.

"It wasn't my dad," Harry said quietly.

"What?"

"It was me," Harry said. "I look just like him, remember? I didn't see my dad. I saw myself." The assertiveness and anger from earlier were totally gone from Harry's voice.

Hermione reached out and touched Harry's arm, gently. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"I knew it couldn't be him," Harry said. "But I hoped. I wanted to see him, for real. Just once." Harry looked across the lake and saw that his past self was beginning to collapse. "This is my cue," he said, standing.

As Harry walked toward the log he thought of Ginny Weasley, but it wasn't enough to free his heart from despair. Everything that he had believed for the past year was a lie. Tonight, he had let his father's killer escape, twice. And on top of it all, the vision of his father was nothing other than the same image he saw in the mirror every morning. Harry felt like he had nothing left. Nothing would ever make him feel happy again. He couldn't cast a patronus feeling like this. Why would he even try? What was the use of going on?

_Pettigrew._

The thought came from nowhere. It felt foreign, like when the Sorting Hat spoke directly into Harry's head. Pettigrew was still out there.

Harry's imagination burst to life. He could see Peter Pettigrew, wandless and kneeling in front of Harry. Pettigrew's hands were shaking and his lower lip was blubbering up and down. He was begging for mercy, and Harry would grant it to him—the same mercy that Pettigrew granted his parents, the mercy of death.

Harry smiled wickedly.

Across the lake, past-Harry's patronus shield finally failed. The dementors moved close, drawing back their hoods.

Harry stepped forward onto the log and raised his wand. "_Expecto patronum!_"

Two enormous prongs burst from the tip of Harry's wand, followed by the body of Harry's fully corporeal patronus. The white-bodied patronus shot across the lake, scattering the dementors and smoothly sweeping them away from past-Harry and Black. The patronus reared up and shook its head at the dementors, as if challenging them to a battle.

When it was clear that the dementors would not return, the patronus slid back to Harry, stopping just short of the Slytherin wizard.

"Harry?" Hermione had moved forward and was now standing by his side. "Your patronus… that's… that's a basilisk."

Harry hadn't moved from the moment that the patronus had left his wand, fangs first. The enormous serpent was so bright that it was almost blinding. Its beautiful ivory scales glittered with internal radiance, a shimmering opalescence that shifted and moved in the moonlight. As Harry and Hermione watched, the patronus closed its eyes, bowed to Harry, and then slowly dissolved into the air.

"Why is your patronus a basilisk, Harry?"

Harry snapped out of his reverie. It was a basilisk because Harry had claimed the title of Heir of Slytherin, of course. But he hadn't told Hermione that. Couldn't tell her that. She was muggle-born, and had been attacked last year. Better not to explain.

"It wasn't a basilisk," Harry said. "That was a boa constrictor. I set one on my cousin Dudley, accidentally, the summer before we came to Hogwarts. That's a happy memory, for me."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "That was no boa constrictor, Harry."

Harry turned and looked Hermione directly in the eye. "Yes, it was. And if anybody asks, that's what we'll say. People already think I'm going dark because I'm a parselmouth in Slytherin. If my patronus was a basilisk, then a whole mess of problems would open up for me. So it's a good thing that my patronus is a boa constrictor, RIGHT?" Harry's teeth were gritting together, and his hand was clenched tightly around his wand.

Hermione leaned back and raised her hands slightly, palms out. "Okay, Harry."

"Good." Before Harry could say more, he heard voices across the lake. He grabbed Hermione and pulled her down, behind the log that they had been standing on.

Dumbledore and Hagrid emerged from the forest across the lake. Hagrid was the first to speak.

"Sirius Black! That's why there were so many dermenter's, Professor! And Harry! I knew we shouldn't'er left 'em behind!"

"Curious," said Dumbledore. "But I can reach no other conclusion. Please take Harry to the hospital wing, immediately. I will lock Sirius Black in the Astronomy Tower until we can contact Minister Fudge and announce his capture."

"But Professor, what about Hermione?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "If Ms. Granger has suffered any harm, it has unfortunately already occurred. We must focus on helping Harry, and keeping Sirius Black restrained. Can you do it, Hagrid?"

Hagrid nodded sadly.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said. "Now, quickly. Off you go with Harry."

Hagrid lifted Harry's body off the beach and dashed into the woods, taking long, rumbling steps. Dumbledore drew his wand from his cloak cast a quick spell to lift Black's body into the air. He paused and took one last look around the lake, then moved into the forest himself.

"Okay," said Harry. "It's easy from here. Black hops onto the bike, and we're all free."

"Sure thing, Harry," said Hermione.

By the time Harry and Hermione reached the Astronomy Tower on the motorcycle, Black had regained consciousness. He was pacing around the Astronomy Tower like a caged animal. Harry called to him in a stage whisper. "Black! Black, come to the window!"

Black moved to the window and broke into a large smile. "Harry! Thank you for coming for me. And on my old bike, no less."

"Get in, we don't have much time!" Harry said, waving at the sidecar.

"What do you mean, 'My old bike?'" Hermione said.

Black climbed out of the window and into the sidecar. "I gave this bike to Hagrid on Halloween thirteen years ago," Black said. "He used it to take Harry to Dumbledore while I went after Pettigrew. The sidecar made it safer than any broom."

Harry pulled the motorcycle away from Hogwarts and raced toward the Forbidden Forest. In moments they were safely concealed by the trees, far away from the prying eyes of the Minister of Magic. As soon as the motorcycle was safely stopped, Hermione was off the bike and on the ground.

"I don't know how to thank you," Black said as he climbed out of the sidecar.

"Stay safe," Harry said as turned off the motorcycle, then climbed off the seat. "We have business to conduct. We might not be friends yet, but I can't think of another person who would want to kill Pettigrew as badly as I do."

Black chuckled. "Hopefully we will find more common ground than our mutual hatred of that rat, Harry." Black threw his leg over the motorcycle seat. "Do you mind if I write you?"

"Of course not," Harry said.

"Good." Black started the motorcycle and immediately pressed the button with the picture of the ear. The sound of the rumbling engine echoed through the trees. "That's how a bike is supposed to sound," Sirius said with a smile. Black revved the throttle and prepared to take off, then paused and turned to Harry once more. "By the way, Harry: how does the Firebolt fly?"

"That was you!?"

"I told you so," said Hermione.

"Of course it was me," said Sirius. "I bought you your first broom when you were just a baby. I'd never let my godson go broomless, no matter what house he flies for."

Harry felt like his heart was going to burst. This must be what it feels like to be loved.

"It flies like a dream," Harry said.

"Smashing." Sirius waved a hand. "So long, Harry."

Harry raised a hand in reply. "Bye."

Black gunned the engine of the motorcycle, and a moment later he was gone in the night.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Maybe he's not that bad, after all."

"Told you so," said Hermione.

"Stop saying that," Harry replied. He turned back toward Hogwarts, then gasped. "Hermione! We have to get back to the hospital wing! We're almost out of time!"

"How are we going to make it?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "We run."

Harry started off at a jog, and Hermione sprinted to catch up with him. Harry led Hermione on a mad dash through Hogwarts, down two secret passages and up several flights of stairs. The two young wizards were out of breath when they reached hallway leading to the hospital wing. Dumbledore was just pulling his head from the doors of the hospital wing and closing them behind him.

"Professor," Hermione said quietly. "We're back."

"Ah, good evening Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter. I trust that you were successful in this evening's endeavors?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"Excellent. And I believe…" Dumbledore pressed his ear against the door of the hospital wing. "Yes, I believe you have gone. Into the hospital wing with you." Dumbledore opened the doors and ushered Harry and Hermione through.

"What about the Minister?" Harry asked.

"I will deal with Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "Your greatest concern should be getting a good night's sleep. We will speak at length in the morning, I am sure." Dumbledore closed and locked the doors behind him.

Harry looked at Hermione. She was still gasping for air.

"How am I supposed to sleep after that?" Harry asked. He was exhausted, true, but another part of him wanted to stay awake for the whole night. And if he had to talk to Hermione the whole time, well, that wouldn't be a terrible thing. He gave Hermione a hopeful smile.

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to go pass out from exhaustion," Hermione said. She wasn't looking at Harry, though; she was looking at Ron. "And we have an exam tomorrow. You can stay awake, but you're on your own." Hermione flopped down on the nearest bed and immediately closed her eyes.

Harry's heart sank. He slowly walked back to the bed he had left several hours—seconds?—ago, and lay down as well. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He tried not to think about the sound of Hermione's breathing, which sounded suspiciously as if she were still awake. Eventually, physical exhaustion overcame Harry's racing mind, and he began to drift off to sleep. As the room went dark, Harry heard Ron softly mumbling from across the hospital wing: "Roontail Wazlib…"


	26. Chapter 26

The leaving feast was, as usual, an exercise in extravagance. All the students from all the houses were present—even Ron had recovered from his broken leg, under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye. There were two open spaces at the head table, however, as neither Professor Lupin nor Professor Snape was in attendance. When Dumbledore awarded Slytherin the House Cup and Quidditch Cup, Professor Sinastra accepted for Slytherin on Snape's behalf.

Harry understood why Snape was missing; his head of house was still unconscious. Professor Lupin, however, had reverted to human form at sunup, and (ostensibly) had consumed wolfsbane potion in plenty of time for dinner. When the feast ended, Harry immediately went to Lupin's office to check on his teacher.

When Harry arrived, he found Lupin's office entirely vacant. The walls were bare, the grindylow tank had been emptied, and the professor's trunk was gone. The only thing to suggest that the office had ever been occupied was a pair of envelopes lying on the desk. The envelopes were addressed in Lupin's handwriting, one to Harry and the other to Dumbledore.

Harry approached the desk and opened his envelope, removing the letter he found inside.

_Dear Harry,_

_It has been a pleasure being your teacher this year, and I hope that you feel the same about being my student. You have demonstrated true talent with charms, and I am proud to say that I played some small part in your education._

_This morning, I tendered my resignation to Professor Dumbledore. While I wish that I could continue as your teacher, the events of last evening have shown me that I am too great a risk to the students in this school. Beyond the dangers inherent in my condition, I have come to doubt my own ability to make reasonable decisions. _

_Last night, I was using the Marauder's Map to watch you and ensure that you did not come to harm. As a consequence, I watched as Sirius dragged Ron Weasley into the Whomping Willow. Impossibly, I saw that Peter Pettigrew was present, as well. _

_I rushed out of my office to offer help and to solve the mystery of Peter's reappearance. As I left I met Professor Snape, who was bringing me my monthly draught of wolfsbane potion. I brought Professor Snape to my desk, showed him the map, and quickly explained the situation. In our haste to proceed to the Whomping Willow, I neglected to drink my wolfsbane potion, thereby setting in motion the unfortunate events of last evening._

_I have been a werewolf for almost all my life, and never expected to be accepted into Hogwarts as a student. Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to accommodate me, and constructed the Shrieking Shack as a means to contain me during my monthly transformations and prevent me from being a danger to other students. Your father, Sirius and Peter befriended me, and it wasn't long before they discover my secret. Instead of shunning me, James and Sirius and Peter wanted to help. They set a goal of becoming animagi, as the werewolf's curse can only affect humans._

_Your father was the first to transform, and took the form of a stag. Sirius was not long after. Together, they were able to help Peter transform. As a rat, Peter could sneak under the Whomping Willow and press the secret knot. James and Sirius, meanwhile, were larger animals that could exert some sort of control over a werewolf. Together, we would leave the Shrieking Shack and gambol around the Forbidden Forest or the grounds of Hogwarts._

_Our actions were reckless and stupid. We could have killed somebody… or worse._

_I kept these actions a secret, because they betrayed Dumbledore's trust. He offered me a chance at a normal life, but I betrayed him. I betrayed Dumbledore again at the beginning of the school year by not telling him about Sirius's animagus transformation. I told myself that Sirius was entering Hogwarts using Dark Arts, but I knew that I was lying to myself. And yet I couldn't bring myself to tell, because it would require confession of my earlier misdeeds. If only I had told… A cleverer wizard than I might have made the connections. Dumbledore might have realized that Peter was the spy all along. Sirius might not have spent so many years in Azkaban._

_I hope that, in time, I will master my weaknesses, both magical and personal. Until that time, I must remove myself from situations where I might cause harm to others._

_Harry, I look forward to a day when we will meet again. And, as I am no longer your teacher, please accept the enclosed parchment with my blessings._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus Lupin_

_PS – I believe, with the firmest conviction, that your mother and father would be proud of you._

Harry placed the letter on the table and looked again into the envelope. A tightly folded piece of parchment was tucked into the bottom. Harry recognized the parchment instantly: the Marauder's Map.

"Looking for someone, Harry?"

Harry turned and found Professor Dumbledore standing in the door of the office.

"Just Professor Lupin, sir." Harry tucked the blank map into his pocket, then picked Lupin's letter up from the desk. "He resigned?"

"First thing this morning," Dumbledore said. "A decision that I understand, but I am sad to see such a thing happen to a wizard such as Remus Lupin."

"Do you know where he is going, Professor?"

"Alas, he refused to tell me," said Dumbledore. "But Remus will return to us when the time is right."

Harry turned to the table. "He left a letter for you, as well, Professor."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Did he? Perhaps you will bring it to my office. You and I are overdue for a conversation, Harry, and I find that these conversations are often made easier by the presence of a dish of candies."

Harry picked up the letter and followed Dumbledore out. When they reached the gargoyle guarding the stairs to Dumbledore's office, the headmaster gave the password ("candy cane") and led Harry up the stairs. Dumbledore took a seat behind his desk, and Harry took a seat in a chair on the other side. He handed Dumbledore the letter, and the Headmaster scanned it quickly. Dumbledore smiled, then set the letter aside.

"Harry, would you like to attend the World Cup of Quidditch this summer?"

Harry bolted erect. "Yes, of course! I didn't even know it was happening!" Harry narrowed his eyes. "Wait. There's no way that the Quidditch World Cup was in Professor Lupin's letter."

"You are correct. Lucius Malfoy has contacted me and offered to escort you to the event. You would travel to the event with the Malfoy family, stay with them, and finish the summer at Malfoy Manor. Is this something you would wish to do?"

There was something about the way that Dumbledore was asking the question that made Harry pause. Harry thought for a moment before responding.

"Yes, it is. I'll take almost any chance to escape the Dursleys; seeing the World Cup and spending the summer with Draco are a bonus."

Dumbledore nodded. "Harry, if you wish to see the World Cup with the Malfoys, I will not prevent you from doing so. However, I must ask your indulgence. Would you grant me a familiar favor?"

"Don't tell anybody about Sirius Black," Harry said. Dumbledore was right—this was a familiar favor. It was the third time in three years that the Headmaster had asked Harry to remain silent about the events surrounding the end of the school year.

"I hope I do not ask too much of you," Dumbledore said.

"But why?" Harry asked.

The headmaster was silent for several moments. "Harry, what do you know of Mr. Malfoy's past?"

"He was a Death Eater," Harry said.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"He told me this summer," Harry said, answering Dumbledore's unspoken question. "He told me when he was warning me about Sirius Black. But… wait." Harry frowned. Something he had just said had set his thoughts in motion, and he wasn't sure he liked where they were leading. "If Mr. Malfoy was a Death Eater, wouldn't he have known that Sirius wasn't actually a traitor? Wouldn't he have known that Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater?"

"Perhaps, Harry," Dumbledore said slowly. "But perhaps not. Just as Voldemort made attempts to spy on me, I made attempts to spy upon him. To protect Peter Pettigrew identity as a spy, only the upper echelons of the Death Eaters would have been aware of his status."

"Mr. Malfoy told me that he was placed under an Imperius Curse and blackmailed. He probably wouldn't have known that Pettigrew was a spy," Harry said.

"Is that what you think?"

Harry was silent.

"I would like to show you something, Harry." Dumbledore stood and walked to a small cabinet. He removed a silver bowl from the cabinet and placed the bowl on his desk. "Have you ever seen this before, or something like it?"

Harry shook his head.

"This is a penseive. It allows memories to be viewed with great clarity. I find that it often offers fresh perspective on even the most confusing situations." Dumbledore raised his wand to his temple, the pulled it away slowly. A glimmering wisp of light followed the tip of the wand, finally pulling free from Dumbledore's head with a snap. Dumbledore placed the light in the penseive, where it lay in the bottom of the bowl in a puddle. "This particular memory may be of interest to you," Dumbledore said. "If you will simply lean in slightly…"

Harry leaned forward and looked into the bowl. Images seemed to flash through the glittering liquid of the memory. If Harry only got a little bit closer, maybe he could see…

And suddenly, Harry was falling, down and down and down into the memory.

*!*!*!*!*

Harry found himself standing in a large room, surrounded by dozens of wizards. He spun around in a panic, reaching for his wand. Whatever this was, it seemed to be some sort of trap.

"Do not be alarmed, Harry."

Harry spun. The headmaster was standing next to him, calmly taking in their surroundings.

"Where are we?"

"We are still in my office, Harry. However, that is not a very good answer to your question, is it?" Dumbledore smiled kindly. "What you see around you is a memory of mine. These are the chambers of the Wizangamot, shortly after the fall of Voldemort."

"How?" Harry asked.

"A penseive is something like muggle television," Dumbledore said. "It allows us to watch our memories, just as a muggle would watch a pre-recorded television program. Similarly, we cannot affect the events that we see here today, but, like any memory, the events can certainly have an effect upon us. Please, Harry, watch carefully the scene before you."

Harry turned back to the Wizangamot chambers. The faces of the members of the Wizangamot were all variations of the same expression: stern, grave, serious in the extreme. Harry recognized the face of Cornelius Fudge, current Minister of Magic. Several seats away sat a younger version of Professor Dumbledore, and next to Dumbledore was grizzled looking man with a barrel chest. As Harry watched, the man took a quick nip from a flask that he carried at his hip.

At the head table sat a gaunt man with dark hair and a thick moustache. He had a severe face and sat with ramrod straight posture. His nameplate revealed his name to be Bartemius Crouch.

Crouch spoke. "Bring in the prisoner."

"Who is that?" asked Harry, pointing to Mr. Crouch.

"Mr. Crouch was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time of this memory," Dumbledore said. "Watch closely, now."

The doors to the chamber opened, and a wizard was led into the chamber in shackles. He wore ragged gray prison robes and his long blonde hair hung in clumps, obscuring his face. There was no doubt, however, that the prisoner was Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius was forced into a chair in the center of the room, facing the head table.

Crouch spoke again. His tone was brusque. "Lucius Malfoy, You have been called to give testimony today regarding the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. You may begin."

Lucius seemed surprised. "What… what do you wish to know?"

"Everything. You may begin."

Lucius took a deep breath. "I was placed under the Imperius Curse-"

"By whom?" asked Crouch.

"Lestrange. Rudolphus Lestrange," said Lucius. "Lestrange forced me to commit crimes for the Death Eaters. Initially, it was petty crimes. Muggle baiting and that sort."

"Dates. Times. Locations."

"I don't know. It wasn't just one time or place. Under the curse, things tended to blur together."

Crouch frowned. "Continue."

"Once the Death Eaters were certain that they could control me, they would use me as a buffer. First contact. If they wished to attack a wizard's home, they would send me in first. If they wished to threaten a shopkeeper, they would use my voice. If there was any chance of being caught, I was at the forefront."

"Dates. Times. Locations."

"The worst… what I remember the most… was late December, 1980. I had been under the curse for almost three weeks, when suddenly I was myself again. I was alone in a room, surrounded by men in masks. They showed me a memory, and in the memory, I was casting Crucio upon Somulus Biggers, in the basement of Slug and Biggers Apothecary. I could barely remember what I had done under the Imperius curse, but I knew the memory was true. They forced me to cast the spell over and over, and they forced me to laugh while I did so." Lucius sighed heavily. "The Death Eaters told me that they needed assets. Money to finance their cause. They threatened to make the memory public if I didn't comply."

"What did you do?" Crouch asked.

"I agreed. My son had just been born. I had no choice. I laundered money through my businesses holdings to hide their finances. I can provide a written list of transactions if you give me access to the ledgers…"

"A supervised review of your accounts will be provided," Crouch said, making a note on the parchment in front of him. "Continue."

"They used the money to finance their campaign. They forced me to attend their meetings."

"How did they contact you?"

Lucius hung his head. "I…took the Dark Mark. They used it to summon me."

Several members of the Wizengamot gasped. Mr. Crouch nodded and made a note on his parchment.

"What's the Dark Mark?" Harry asked Dumbledore.

"A symbol of the Death Eaters," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort branded his followers."

Crouch continued his inquiry of Lucius Malfoy, but Lucius had little to offer—he said that the Death Eaters he met were always masked, and that they did not reveal their identities. Crouch didn't seem to believe him, and quickly became aggressive in his questioning. Mr. Malfoy hung his head lower and lower, allowing his blond hair to hide his face.

"Here, now," said a voice from the crowd. Cornelius Fudge stood and spoke. "Mr. Malfoy is a not a criminal."

"That remains to be seen," snapped Crouch.

"Mr. Malfoy contacted the Ministry and willingly offered his testimony before this august body to give testimony regarding his harrowing experience," Fudge said. "His testimony is the same as his sworn statements, and those statements were thoroughly investigated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement prior to today's hearings. Nothing was discovered to contradict Mr. Malfoy's testimony."

"Nor was anything discovered to confirm his testimony," Crouch snapped.

"In England, we are innocent until proven guilty, and that guilt must be proved beyond all reasonable doubt," Fudge said. "Yet Mr. Malfoy sits here today, not even accused of a crime. Indeed, it appears that he was a victim of the Death Eaters. Will you make him a victim again?" Fudge's speech was clearly pre-written. Harry could see that Fudge had expected this moment to come, and had always intended to come to Mr. Malfoy's defense.

"He fabricated this alibi specifically because it couldn't be refuted!" Crouch was trembling with anger, his composure completely lost.

"While I respect your zeal, Mr. Crouch, I believe that your perception of Mr. Malfoy has been distorted by recent events," Fudge replied.

"That… that is absolutely irrelevant here."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked Dumbledore. The Headmaster shook his head silently, directing Harry's attention back to Fudge.

"I think recent events are perfectly relevant," Fudge was saying. "You failed to recognize the wolf at the door, and we all paid for your mistake. Now, however, you are jumping at shadows in the night. It is evident that your ability to discern between legitimate threats and wild speculation has been significantly impaired." Crouch began to stammer, but Fudge spoke over Crouch with a strong, clear voice. "Because this is not the proper hearing for a vote of no confidence, I will simply move that the Wizangamot close the matter of Mr. Malfoy's testimony and order his immediate release from custody."

"Now, watch carefully, Harry," said Dumbledore.

As the Wizangamot voted on Fudge's motion, Harry kept his attention on Mr. Malfoy. The votes were tallied quickly, and Fudge read the results aloud.

"By a vote of sixty-four 'aye' and twenty-one 'nay,' the motion passes."

A smile flitted across Mr. Malfoy's face, and was quickly replaced by a look of shocked relief.

"What was that, sir?" Harry asked Dumbledore. The expression on Mr. Malfoy's face had been… frightening. There was no joy in the expression, and certainly no surprise. The way Mr. Malfoy's lip had curled upward, revealing his teeth… it was a cruel smile, a smile of feral vindication.

"It is what we came to see," said Dumbledore. "This memory holds nothing else for us." Dumbledore grabbed Harry's arm, and Harry was suddenly swept upward and out of the memory.

* * *

**A/N:** _As always, thanks so much to my reviewers. This has been one of my best weeks ever, in terms of readership, but one reader who reviews regularly means more than a hundred people who just flit through on a lark._

_Next week is the big conclusion for Harry Potter and the Dementors of Azkaban. Two weeks from now, I will begin posting Book Four. Now's the time to throw me into your Author Alert, so you'll know when the transition hits!_

_Finally, if you aren't reading Love in a Time of the Zombie Apocalypse by Rizzle, you are missing out. Give it a read, give it a review. Tell her I sent you._


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:** _A few comments last week made me ruminate a bit on the nature of the penseive, so I added a few pages to this chapter before I posted it._

* * *

Harry raised his head, looking up from the penseive. He looked over at Dumbledore, who was similarly standing up.

"What are your thoughts?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'm… not sure what exactly you're asking about, sir," Harry said.

"Mmm." Dumbledore made a noncommittal noise, but gave no indication that he intended to elaborate. Dumbledore clearly thought that how Harry reacted to the memory was just as important as what Harry had noticed. Perhaps moreso. Harry wanted more time to think before he spoke, however, so he tried a different tactic.

"I'm curious to know the penseive works," Harry said. "If this is your memory, shouldn't it have been from your perspective? We could see the opposite side of Mr. Malfoy's body—how would you know what that looked like?"

Dumbledore smiled. "While I admire your curiosity, this does seem to be a collateral matter. Perhaps this is a discussion we could have later?"

"I'm just wondering how reliable the memory is. Does it deteriorate over time, like normal memories?" Harry asked. "Are blank spots filled in by guesswork and assumptions, or is the penseive memory somehow more accurate?"

"Hmm. A worthy question." Dumbledore nodded. "I see why you wish to understand the penseive, before passing judgment. In short, let me say that it can be trusted completely. A penseive creates a perfect reproduction of events, precisely as they actually happened."

"But how?" Harry asked. Now he truly was curious.

"Penseives are rare," Dumbledore said. "And they are not well understood. There are two primary theories, however. The first is that a person's unconscious perceptions are sufficiently detailed to form a complete, three-dimensional world."

"That seems crazy," Harry said.

"Perhaps. But let me ask you this: is my office a noisy place?"

Harry shook his head. It was rather quiet.

Dumbledore gestured around the room. "Consider how many sounds are currently being made in my office: the ticking of the clock, the crackling of the fire, the sound of Fawkes breathing as he sleeps, the rustle of cloth as we move in our robes. While these sounds might not have your attention, they are within your perception. It is from these perceptions that a penseive memory is created… or so the theory goes."

"But that doesn't explain how I could _see _the opposite side of Mr. Malfoy's body," Harry countered.

"A conundrum which has troubled many penseive scholars." Dumbledore moved back toward his desk and sat down. Harry followed him and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the desk. "The second theory of penseive operation posits that latent magic surrounds a wizard at all times, in a sort of magic aura. The penseive memory is constructed from disturbances in that aura, and therefore is not be bound by the limits of a wizard's direct perception."

"Which do you think is true?" Harry asked.

"I have not been able to make a definitive determination," Dumbledore said. "I am sure, however, that penseive memories are unfailingly accurate. Once, I used a penseive to discover the identity of a student who Spell-O-Taped a 'JINX ME' sign to my back." Dumbledore winked. "Even though I was not able to see behind me, the memory correctly identified the young man who had managed that prank."

"But how do you know for sure?" Harry asked.

"I asked to see the young man's memory of the event, and in exchange he did not receive detention. When I compared his memory to mine, they were identical in almost every respect. The only difference was that my memory allowed me to see further down the hallway." Dumbledore shrugged. "I still do not know whether this is caused by the fact that I possessed a larger magical aura, or by the fact that I am more observant than a typical schoolboy."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe anybody would play a prank on you like that."

"Well, your father was a brave man, Mr. Potter."

"That was my dad?!" Harry shouted.

"Encouraged by Sirius Black, of course," Dumbledore said. "Those two were quite the pair."

"Can I see that memory?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps later. We are ranging far afield from the subject of our discussion." Dumbledore leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk. "Have I satisfied your curiosity as to the function and accuracy of the penseive?"

"Mostly, yes," Harry said.

"Good. Tell me, then, what are your thoughts about the memory you observed? And, please, no more delays." Dumbledore smiled. "I hope by now you have had sufficient time to compose your thoughts."

Harry blushed. He hadn't thought himself so transparent.

"I… don't know what to think," Harry said, finally. "I feel mixed up. On one hand, Mr. Malfoy has always treated me well, and I've never been given any indication that he dislikes me, or resents me, or whatever a former Death Eater would feel about me. And when I consider the explanation that he gave the Wizengamot—the explanation he gave me—I can certainly understand his actions."

"But?"

"But last summer, when he told me about his past… part of me didn't believe it. It wasn't anything I could put into words. There wasn't a moment I could point to and say, 'That was it.' But at the end of the conversation, it just didn't feel right. Mr. Crouch clearly felt that way about Mr. Malfoy's alibi, and I agree with him. And that smile… it was awful."

Dumbledore nodded. "I have spent many long hours thinking about that smile, Harry. It leaves me… troubled."

"Why didn't anybody else see it?" Harry asked. "The room was full of wizards. Why didn't anybody else notice?"

"I think you already know the answer," Dumbledore said. "One factor was Mr. Malfoy's posture and hair, which largely concealed his face. More importantly, though… as you viewed the memory, to whom was your attention drawn?"

Of course. "Mr. Fudge."

"Cornelius was putting on quite the performance," Dumbledore said with a small nod. "It was the beginning of his rapid rise to power within the Ministry. He was a skilled speaker, and he could easily command the attention of the entire Wizengamot. I have reviewed that memory many times, and even Alastor Moody, one of the greatest aurors of his generation, was watching Cornelius speak."

"Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Fudge are friends, aren't they?" Harry asked.

"Not friends, necessarily. More like business associates. Political partners. Their relationship is one of mutual benefit."

"Did Mr. Malfoy buy off Mr. Fudge?" Harry asked. "Is that why Mr. Fudge ended the hearing?"

"There is no evidence of that, Harry."

Harry looked down at the floor. Dumbledore, as always, had spoken carefully. There was no evidence that Fudge had been bribed, but lack of evidence did not mean that the transaction had not taken place. A cascade of thoughts was rolling through Harry's mind. He was overwhelmed, struggling to make any sense of them.

"Am I correct in saying, Harry, that you are having difficulty resolving Lucius Malfoy's actions in the present with his actions in the past?"

Harry nodded. "I've been trying to figure it out ever since the end of last year, sir. I don't believe his explanation, but I also don't understand how the man I know could have been a Death Eater."

"I think there are many explanations for Lucius's actions, Harry. Perhaps Lucius is telling the truth, and Cornelius Fudge has always been correct. Or perhaps Lucius is lying about his past, not because he was a Death Eater, but because of some other embarrassment that he wishes to remain secret." Dumbledore paused, and his blue eyes twinkled. "Or perhaps Lucius was once a Death Eater, and he lies about his past because he has become a changed man, ashamed of his former actions. It would not surprise me, Harry, if that change has been brought about by knowing you."

"Is that what you really think, sir?"

"I think it is a possibility," Dumbledore said.

"And that's why you let me visit every summer. Even after the Chamber of Secrets."

Dumbledore nodded. "Many good wizards were extremely suspicious of Lucius Malfoy after Voldemort's defeat, and some of those wizards remain suspicious to this day. However, as Sirius Black so recently reminded us, suspicion, no matter how strong, is no substitute for evidence of guilt. Although Lucius Malfoy and I do not agree on matters of social and political policy, those disagreements do not render him a criminal."

"But you'd rather not take any chances," Harry said.

"Which brings our conversation full circle, Harry."

Harry nodded. "I understand. Even if Mr. Malfoy has changed, there's no need to tempt him with hints that Voldemort might return. I'll keep quiet about Sirius and Pettigrew."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I wish, Harry, that a person so young would not be burdened by such considerations. Children should have time for childhood."

"I've never had a childhood," Harry said, thinking of his time in the cupboard under the stairs.

"I would hope that Hogwarts can provide a safe haven for you, and allow you to experience the more fulfilling aspects of your young life." Dumbledore walked back to his desk and picked up the letter he had received from Professor Lupin. "To that end, and at the request of the recently departed friend, I will be owling Sirius Black in the near future in order to obtain his signature on a Hogsmeade Permission Form."

"But the Ministry still thinks he's a fugitive!"

"It is not the purview of the Ministry to accept or reject a guardian's signature on a Hogsmeade permission form," said Dumbledore, grinning mischievously. "That power lies with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and you can rest assured that Mr. Black's signature will prove satisfactory."

Harry smiled broadly. "Thank you, sir."

"You are quite welcome, Harry. Now, unless there is something else…" Dumbledore began to stand.

"Actually, sir, there is."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, then settled back into his chair. "Yes, my boy?"

"How did you know to take a closer look at this memory? If everybody's eyes were on Mr. Fudge… I mean, were you really _that _suspicious of Mr. Malfoy, that you went back and looked, just in case?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I was well aware that Cornelius had political aspirations of the highest order, and such machinations were of no interest to me. I kept my attention on Lucius Malfoy because I was, and I remain, concerned about the possibility that Voldemort will rise again."

Dumbledore's words fired through Harry's head like a bolt of lightning. _The Dark Lord will rise again…_ "Er… Professor? I… um…" Harry swallowed deeply.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Yesterday, before things got really crazy, Professor Trelawney said something strange."

"I imagine that Professor Trelawney has said many strange things throughout the year," Dumbledore said, with a twinkle in his eye. "I suspect that this particular something is unique for another reason?"

"Just after my Divination final, when I was the only one in the room, her voice got really deep and she said…" Harry paused. "I can't remember it exactly. But she said something about a servant who had been trapped for twelve years setting out to rejoin the Dark Lord, and helping him rise to power again."

Dumbledore sat very still. "Harry. Why didn't you come to me about this immediately?"

"I'm sorry, but it seemed so ridiculous! Everything she's said all year has been completely absurd. She told me I was going to die on the first day of class!"

"Professor Trelawney possesses an extraordinarily powerful ability to predict the future," Dumbledore said. "However, her foresight is also extraordinarily infrequent." Dumbledore shook his head. "Peter Pettigrew has escaped, and that cannot be changed. However, our knowledge of the prophecy will allow me to prepare for the future. Thank you for telling me this, Harry."

"You're welcome," Harry said. "I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner. I've just trained myself to ignore anything that Professor Trelawney says."

Dumbledore smiled, and the twinkle returned to his eyes. "I believe that this is the second legitimate prophecy that Professor Trelawney has ever given. Perhaps she deserves a raise…"

Harry snorted. "Hardly."

"Am I to understand that you are, shall we say, less than thrilled with your Divination class?"

"Should have taken Ancient Runes or Arithmancy," Harry grumbled.

"I could… transfer you, if you wish." Dumbledore reached into his desk and removed a piece of parchment. "It would require you to take a correspondence course this summer, including an additional examination to ensure that you have adequately understood your lessons, but at the start of next school year, you could join fourth year Ancient Runes or Arithmancy."

"I never thought that more homework would sound so beautiful," Harry said. "Where do I sign?"

"Just here," Dumbledore said, pointing at the bottom of the page. "Which course would you like to take?"

Harry pondered for a moment. He didn't know much about either course, other than their reputation for difficulty. Unfortunately, he hadn't paid much attention to Hermione's homework when they had studied together. "Which would you suggest, sir?"

"Ancient Runes will assist you in research into spell origins and spell theory, while Arithmancy will increase your understanding of the power of numbers. Ultimately, both will help you in spellcrafting."

Spellcrafting…

"Sir? Did Professor Lupin tell you how Sirius Black was getting into the castle?"

Dumbledore nodded. "An amazing feat, becoming an animagus at such a young age. Sirius is a very skilled wizard, Harry, as was your father."

"And these classes will help me become a better wizard?"

"Yes, in the strictest sense of the word. But there is more to being a great wizard than the ability to cast and craft spells, Harry."

Harry had stopped listening at "yes". "I want to take both classes," Harry said. "I'll drop Care of Magical Creatures, as well."

Harry enjoyed Hagrid's class, but it was more like a trip to the zoo than a real education. If Harry's dad had managed to become an animagus at such a young age, Harry's education was far behind and he couldn't waste any time catching up.

"Are you certain, Harry? This is quite a lot of work for the summer. Perhaps you should take the opportunity to rest. Go outside. Enjoy yourself."

"I'm certain, sir. The best thing about summer is when it ends."

"Very well." Dumbledore removed a second form from his desk. "Sign twice, and I will make speak with Professors Vector and Babbling regarding an independent study correspondence course."

"Thank you, professor," Harry said. He leaned forward and signed both papers quickly.

"I did not know that you had such an interest in spellcrafting, Harry," Dumbledore said. "If this is where your interests lie, why did you enroll in Divination this year?"

Harry glanced down at the floor. "Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are hard," Harry said. "Draco told me that Divination and Care of Magical Creatures were easy O's. We're both near the top of the class, and we wanted to stay there, so… we took the easy classes."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Don't let that worry you," the older man said. "I have heard those words, or variations thereof, for as long as I have been employed at Hogwarts. I am glad to hear that you are pursuing a path that is true to your heart, even if it is more challenging academically. Some of life's greatest challenges lie in the choice between doing what is right and doing what is easy." Dumbledore glanced at his clock. "And now, perhaps you should return to your dormitory," he said, gathering the transfer papers. "I imagine that you still have packing to do?"

Harry nodded. "I meant to do it last night, but I got a little distracted."

"I quite understand," Dumbledore said. He stood and walked to the door of his office with Harry. "Have a pleasant summer, Harry. I look forward to seeing you again in the fall."

It wasn't until Harry reached his dormitory that he realized that Dumbledore had not asked a single question about Harry's experience with Hermione's time turner.

*!*!*

Harry shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express with Draco and Pansy during the trip to King's Cross Station from Hogwarts. In the past, Harry and Draco had spent the train ride making their summer plans, and Harry had desperately cast a final few spells before the summer's restriction on underage magic went into effect.

This year, however, Harry spent most of the trip staring out the window, watching the landscape rush past as the train chugged toward London. He couldn't stop thinking about the events of the last few weeks. Pettigrew was alive, a servant of Voldemort, and free. Black was innocent, a fugitive, and his godfather. Mr. Malfoy was taking him to the quidditch world cup, was his best friend's father, and was a former Death Eater. How was anybody supposed to figure out what was going on in the world?

Draco had noticed that Harry was unusually quiet, but hadn't pressed Harry beyond a question or two. Pansy, talkative as ever, was more than willing to carry the conversational load, chatting with (and sometimes at) Draco for the majority of the trip. As the Hogwarts Express neared the station, Pansy stood and collected her trunk.

"You'll write this summer, won't you, Harry?"

"What?" Harry looked back into the compartment. Pansy had said something to him, but he wasn't sure what.

"I said, 'Write me this summer.' You've got that beautiful owl. You should make sure that she gets her exercise."

"Oh… okay. Sure I'll write."

"Good. I'm going to go say goodbye to Daphne before she gets off the train. Have a nice summer, boys."

Harry and Draco waved as Pansy left the compartment. The boys stood and began collecting their things.

"So I'll see you for the World Cup?" Draco asked.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," said Harry.

"Great. England has a chance this year, but the smart money's on Ireland."

Harry smiled. "I'll keep that in mind. Write before you come to get me this summer, okay? After the way I left the Dursleys' the last two years, they won't be happy if a wizard shows up unannounced on their doorstep."

"Why are you going back to stay with them, anyway?" Draco was pulling his trunk out of the compartment, and Harry followed. "You could stay the whole summer with me. I'm certain Dumbledore could find somewhere for you to be put up, as well, if he weren't such a barmy old coot. You'll be fourteen before the end of the summer; it's not like you're a kid any longer."

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore thinks that family is important, I guess. He wrote my aunt and uncle last fall and essentially ordered them to take me back. They aren't happy about it, I'm sure."

As Harry and Draco exited onto the platform, Harry saw Hermione talking to a pair of adults. Based on the older woman's hair, they were Hermione's parents. Harry walked over to say hello. After a moment's hesitation, Draco followed. Mr. Malfoy wasn't on the platform, and nothing was more embarrassing than standing around and looking as if you didn't belong somewhere.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry said. "Just wanted to say goodbye before you left for the summer."

Hermione smiled. "Hi, Harry! Let me introduce you to my parents, Ian and Michelle Granger. Mom, Dad, this is my friend Harry Potter." As Hermione finished speaking, Draco walked up next to Harry. Hermione hesitated for a beat, then continued her introduction. "And this is Harry's friend, Draco Malfoy."

Harry stepped forward and shook Mr. Granger's hand.

"It's good to meet you," Mr. Granger said. "Hermione has written us so much about you."

"Hopefully it was good, sir," Harry said. Harry glanced over at Hermione, and the young witch blushed. She refused to look away, however, and stood taller under Harry's inquisitive gaze.

Mr. Granger released Harry's hand and turned to Draco. "And… Draco, was it? Good to meet you too. It's nice to see that Hermione is making friends."

Hermione blushed a deeper shade of red. "Dad…"

"What? I'm always worried about my little girl." Ian turned back to Draco and Harry. "She had a hard go of it at primary school, and I wasn't sure how she would do in a castle full of born wizards."

"Ian." Mrs. Granger placed a hand gently upon Mr. Granger's arm. "I'm sure our daughter would prefer a different topic of conversation."

Draco spoke up. "She's doing as well as you could hope for a mu…ggleborn," Draco said. "Harry's one of the most popular blokes in school." Draco was carefully neutral with his words.

"Is he?" said Mr. Granger. "Perhaps my little girl is growing up faster than I thought, hmm?" Mr. Granger raised his eyebrows up and down as he spoke, and Mrs. Granger slapped him lightly on the arm.

"DAD! Augh!" Hermione turned to Harry. "Please, just petrify me now and _reenervate_ me when I'm seventeen. It'll be better than this."

Harry and Draco began to laugh. Hermione, significantly less amused, grabbed her father's arm with one hand and her trunk with the other, and began dragging both of them away. "I'll see you in the fall, Harry," she called over her shoulder as she hauled her father toward the magical barrier setting Platform Nine and Three Quarters off from the rest of King's Cross.

"Bye, Hermione!"

"That was excruciating," Draco said to Harry.

"Meeting Hermione's parents?"

"Yes. I could just feel how un-magical they were. It was like standing next to… next to…"

"Goyle?"

"Yes, a little bit like that." Draco smiled. He always enjoyed Harry's nastier jokes.

"It does mean a lot to me that you'd do that," Harry said.

"Don't mention it," said Draco.

"Really, though. I know it's hard-"

"Harry, I literally mean 'Close your mouth.'" Draco looked up and over Harry's shoulder. "Hello, father!"

"Hello Draco. Harry, it's good to see you healthy after your encounter with the Azkaban guards."

"I'm doing quite well, sir," Harry said. He hadn't realized that news of his battle with the dementors would have spread so quickly. Then again, Dumbledore had to give _some_ excuse to Fudge in order to have the guards withdrawn from Hogwarts, and their unprovoked attack upon the Boy Who Lived would be rather persuasive.

"Will you be joining us for the quidditch world cup?" Lucius asked. "I have not received a reply from Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. "It's going to be the best part of my summer. I wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Harry!" Harry looked past Mr. Malfoy and saw that Hermione had returned to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "I think you're uncle's waiting for you. He looks like he's about to kill someone."

"Thanks!" Harry waved, and Hermione dashed away again. "Looks like I have to go," Harry said to Draco and Mr. Malfoy. "I'll owl as soon as I have a spare moment."

"So, as soon as you get home?" Draco teased.

"Please don't call that place my home," Harry said. "It's too depressing." The young Slytherin shook Mr. Malfoy's hand and slapped Draco on the shoulder. "I'll see you in a few months." Harry bent down and grasped his trunk, then stood, dreading the reality of the long, slow, silent trip back to Privet Drive.

* * *

**A/N:** _And that's the end! Next week I will begin posting Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Check back here for a special preview chapter!_


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** _Preview chapter time! Head over to my new story, _Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament, _which begins posting today! Story ID: 9643440._

* * *

Harry nodded. "Okay. Let's meet in the library tomorrow, an hour before dinner. For now, let's get back to our dormitories."

Hermione quickly packed her bag, and the four students stepped out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Tracey and Draco began walking toward Slytherin, but Harry hesitated. It would be no problem for Tracey and Draco to make it back to Slytherin before curfew, but there was no way that Hermione could get all the way across the castle to Gryffindor Tower in time.

"I'm going to walk Hermione back to Gryffindor," Harry said. "If we run into a prefect, we'll use the invisibility cloak." Part of Harry was actually hoping that they would run into a prefect; he wouldn't mind a few minutes with Hermione under the invisibility cloak.

Draco shrugged and turned away. "Whatever."

Tracey waved and smiled. "See you in a few minutes!"

As Harry and Hermione set off for Gryffindor tower, Harry removed the Marauder's Map from his cloak and activated it. He and Hermione were alone, and there weren't any prefects or teachers between them and Gryffindor tower. Harry would have plenty of time to get his invisibility cloak if somebody approached. It was going to be an easy walk.

As Harry and Hermione walked along the corridor, Harry was struck by his friend's silence. Hermione wasn't a chatterbox like Pansy, but she usually had something to say. Combined with the strange sound of her voice in the bathroom, and her complete lack of reaction to Harry's story, Harry was completely befuddled. Nevertheless, Harry was content to stay quiet—the chiming of distant clocks told him that curfew had finally passed. There was no need to draw attention to themselves, and voices sometimes did strange things in the halls of Hogwarts.

As Hermione and Harry walked up a staircase, automatically hopping over the disappearing trick step, Harry glanced over and saw that Hermione was clearly struggling to keep… some sort of expression off her face. Hermione was screwing her mouth back and forth, as if her closed lips were literally holding back words. Her eyes stared straight ahead, rejecting possible distractions. Her attention was turned completely inward. Hermione was definitely thinking about something.

Harry always found Hermione was attractive when she was using her intelligence to logically work through some sort of problem, and tonight was no exception. As Hermione absentmindedly moved her mouth, her nose wiggled slightly, a fact that Harry found exceedingly cute. When she finally set her jaw in place, her face was thrown into sharp relief. Her eyes flashed with intensity. Even her unruly hair could not hide the fact that she was an attractive young witch. Not that Harry would ever say such a thing out loud, of course. Especially not to Draco, and _especially_ not to Hermione.

That being said, Harry was finding it difficult not to stare. He settled for glancing at Hermione, then looking ahead, then glancing back.

Harry and Hermione reached Gryffindor Tower without incident. No prefect or teacher would patrol this close to the common room, either; only a truly unusual situation would catch their attention. Hermione stepped forward to give the Fat Lady her password, but hesitated. She turned to Harry, an uncertain expression on her face.

Harry finally spoke, quietly. "You know, this reminds me of the last time I walked you back to Gryffindor Tower," Harry said. "Remember, after you snuck into my common room-"

Hermione grabbed Harry by the front of his cloak and pushed him backwards. Harry stumbled a little, then caught his balance when his back struck the wall. Hermione moved close, and as Harry glanced around he realized that she had concealed the two of them behind a suit of armor.

Harry wasn't sure what was happening, but in part of his mind it sounded as if bells were ringing. It was like he had just won a prize. Harry had heard that girls in Gryffindor were a bit more… aggressive… than girls from other houses, but he hadn't exactly been sure what that would mean. He had a feeling he was about to find out—apparently, Hermione had been more impressed by his stories than she had let on. Harry wondered how quickly he could get them both under his invisibility cloak, and how close the nearest secret passage was.

Hermione pulled down on Harry's cloak, drawing him forward until their faces were almost touching. She looked directly into Harry's eyes and slowly parted her lips. Harry closed his eyes slightly. This was it.

* * *

**A/N: **_Want to know what chapter this is in? Chapter 10! Hahaha!_


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